


(I Know Alone) Like No One Else Does

by anomalation



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Ben Wyatt voice: It's About Being Seen, Communication, Denial, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Nostalgia, POV Multiple, Past Sexual Abuse, Recovered Memories, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 84,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalation/pseuds/anomalation
Summary: In which Patty loves Stan and will not let him face It alone, Richie has to remember everything he loved and lost, Eddie still thinks he can keep himself under control, and Bev remembers she has people she can trust. By the end, Patty learns she's not alone either, Richie starts to find himself, Eddie realizes he needs therapy, and Bev fixes her sink.Mostly a movie canon reimagining focused on the girls and gays. Or, maybe if Stephen King didn't fear and despise women, everyone could've lived and we could've gotten a thematically satisfying ending.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 50
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> and to think, just a week ago i was resolutely NOT going to write IT fanfic. looks like the joke's on stephen sexist homophobe king (and also me) 
> 
> listen. you, stephen king, you want me to believe that miss babylove herself would have seen stan take that call and just neglected to notice how it affected him?? that richie was not Realizing Things throughout that whole dinner? that eddie was happily married??? that bev wasn't deep in her own adult trauma? and above all, you truly expect me to believe that simply expressing their fears to each other was not an option???? 
> 
> not in this household. not during this quarantine.

Patty never understood why Stan thought he was a coward until she met the Losers’ Club. Because he wasn’t, he wasn’t anything close to that. Stanley Uris was, very quietly, the bravest person she knew. When he made his mind up that something was right, nothing could stop him from doggedly following through. In college, he’d joined protests on campus at a moment’s notice. He marched at Pride. In the first year of their relationship, he’d come with Patty and a friend for moral support when that friend needed an abortion. Stan knew what he would fight for.

But then, after a sleepless night and a four hour flight, she met the other Losers. Mike first, with a big warm smile and hug, the steadiest man she’d met or probably would ever meet. The one, she knew from Stan, who’d volunteered to stay behind and be forgotten. And next to him, already there, was Bill Denbrough - like, two full shelves at the library for his books, Bill Denbrough. Movies and shows and miniseries made of his works, Bill Denbrough. And, apparently, Stan’s best friend growing up. She was only two people in, and already got the sense that this was gonna be quite a bit to wrap her mind around.

Next in was a person who was listing food allergies to a poor harried waitress until he saw them. “Holy shit, Stan,” he said after a second of staring. “You got married?” There was alarm in his voice that felt a little strange. 

“Yeah,” Stanley answered with a smile. Patty smiled with him. “This is Patricia Uris. Patty, this is Eddie.”

So _this_ was Eddie, the person Stan described as possibly the most exceptional thirteen year old to have ever lived. Eddie gave one of them stitches in an alley. Eddie was the only person who could shut Richie up, and that was no small feat. Eddie was the fastest talker in world, and he faced down Pennywise alone, and he did everything the other kids did that summer but with a broken arm.

Within just two minutes of speaking to Eddie, Patty was ready to believe everything.

Eddie was momentarily shocked into silence, but that lasted for all of thirty seconds. Then he remembered Stanley liked birdwatching, and asked how many Stan had added to his life list since Maine, and then Eddie delivered a serious lecture about the dangers of avian flu, all seemingly without taking a breath or pausing to collect his thoughts. Also, in the middle of all of that, he flagged down the waitress and ordered his drink, an iced tea, “but only if you brew the tea in house, do you brew the tea in house? I need to avoid sugar, so there can’t be added sugars. Like not just less sweet, completely unsweet. Is that something you do?”

In the end, Eddie did take the risk and got the iced tea. Stan listened to the whole avian flu lecture and then refuted it point by point at his own pace. He kept up. Something told her he’d had a lot of practice.

“Can I try the iced tea?” Stan asked after an awkward lull. “Is it good?”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at Stan. “Do you have any communicable diseases? Do you?” he added, looking at Patty.

“Don’t ask my wife if she has communicable diseases, Eddie,” Stan said, but Patty squeezed his hand and smiled.

“It’s fine,” she said. “And no, I don’t. Unless mysterious infertility is catching.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” he said, and then got instantaneously lost in thought. “Well. That’s probably not the worst thing in the world. Unless it’s a symptom of-”

A gong sounded. The rest of the gang was here. Patty took the moment of confusion to look at Stan, a private sort of What The Fuck look at that comment. Stan wasn’t looking at her, though. He was staring at these people she hadn’t heard of 24 hours ago which such open yearning that she almost felt like she was invading his privacy.

She met the last three then. Richie fucking Tozier was the Richie Stan called a trashmouth. Beverly Marsh of Rogan Marsh was the Bev Stan said was the closest thing he had to a sister. Patty had packed one of her blouses. And Ben, who had among the least remarkable resumes of the group, still looked like an underwear model and had the extremely lovable demeanor of a golden retriever.

And sitting here with the seven of them, in a chair pulled from a nearby table, Patty looked around at all of them and began to understand a little better. Maybe growing up around six of the most objectively exceptional people in the continental United States would make anyone feel a bit inadequate. Especially if the person in question was prone to finding himself inadequate. But that was fine. Patty knew who he was enough for both of them, and she knew he belonged here.

She was wedged between Stan and Richie. Stan and Eddie immediately started talking about their health histories, a topic that seemed well-worn. Eddie had a lot of opinions about Stan’s high cholesterol, and a bunch of food allergies that Stan seemed somehow skeptical of. Or maybe his skepticism just seemed strange because Patty wasn’t used to him having this, people he knew. Not just coworkers, but people he knew in the deepest way possible, in his very center. He knew their rhythms; she caught him glancing at the others just before they’d speak, knowing who would respond to who.

And. _And,_ Patty was delighted to discover, these people knew Stan back. They loved him, fiercely. Richie immediately declared Stan the funniest man he knew - which made Eddie frown for a fraction of a second - based on his bar mitzvah speech, all those years ago. Stanley lit up when he heard it, so delighted to remember that again. It sort of broke Patty’s heart to know how much not remembering had bothered him before. It had been sitting here, waiting for him to come back. Along with Bill, who sat patiently until he had Stan’s attention to tell him he wanted Stan’s eyes on the next draft of his script. “My stories were always better when you took a look,” he said sincerely. “I can’t believe I forgot.”

“Just find me a red pen,” Stanley said with a smile. It sounded like something he’d said before.

Perhaps a weaker woman would’ve been jealous of Beverly, the girl all these boys loved so unreservedly. Stan had told her about how they’d rescued her from whatever he’d been talking about when he described a shapeshifting clown. It had been stupid, he admitted, but this was _Bev._ He’d said her name in the same tone he’d might say he _had_ to give that person they’d walked past the last ten dollars he had, they were homeless. It was a moral imperative. Patty didn’t still quite get it, but Bev was shining with joy at being around them. She was funny, and kind, and immediately said over Richie, “I’m so excited to have another girl in the mix. These assholes talk about their dicks so much, we have to return the favor.”

“Please,” Richie inserted himself. “ _Please_ , I’d love for you to talk about our dicks instead.”

Bev flipped him off. “If someone says the word vagina around Richie, he blushes,” she told Patty in conspiratorial tones.

“I do not!” Richie complained, already going pink.

“What about pussy?” Patty suggested, and Richie opened his eyes as wide as they got, staring at his plate.

“Fucking amazing,” Bev laughed. “Nice find, Stan the Man. She’s a keeper.”

“Don’t I know it,” Stan said, and found Patty's hand under the edge of the table to squeeze it.

This, _this_ was what had been missing from his life. Patty could feel it, how relieved he was to get it back. He was so much more settled, even though he was out of his mind terrified and had been up for 24 hours. He wasn’t alone, that was the difference. He was part of an us, an us that was formidable.

Mike wasn’t quite as active as the rest; he clearly had something on his mind and a lot he wasn’t quite saying. Patty and him connected across the table, a bolt of eye contact that chilled her out of the contentment. He’d called them here for a reason, some reason Stan knew. Stan hadn’t wanted to come back, after all. He’d gone dark and quiet after the call. It, Stan had said as a proper noun. It had come back.

Whatever It was, Patty didn’t really care. Well, she cared in that she wanted to know but the answer wouldn’t change her mind, it was made up. Now, It would have to deal with her, too. After at least one more egg roll.

Richie had always known he was gay. Or that’s what he’d tell whoever was asking. Truth was, he couldn’t remember how long he’d known. At least since he was 17, when they’d moved to Chicago for his dad’s job and he’d walked into the first day of senior year and saw probably the cutest boy in the world in the hall. There was no panic or realization. He already knew. He liked boys. So he must have always known. Right?

But then he walked into that fucking Chinese restaurant, and he saw five unfamiliar faces he could attach names to with no conscious thought, which was trippy enough. He was already kind of losing his shit over that. So it was hard to put into words exactly what went through his mind when he saw the last person. Maybe the person he’d unconsciously saved for last. Mostly, it was something like, _Oh. That’s when I knew._

Because he hadn’t always known he was gay. He’d suspected for a while, once he learned what gay actually was - and that was a kind of ridiculous verb, _suspect_ , given that he was talking about his own fucking self, but it was all he’d let himself do for the longest time. He hadn’t _always_ known. He knew because of that motherfucker right there. Eddie Kaspbrak. And now Eddie was wearing a wedding ring.

He played it cool. Lifetime of experience keeping things normal around hot guys finally came in handy. Plus, there were six other people here as buffer, the other Losers and Stan’s wife, Patty. Patty was a great distraction. Like, of course Stan got married and of course he brought her, and of course she was the perfect eighth member of the group. She sat between Stan and Richie and listened to everything with a warm, slight smile, but Richie could see her brain going a million miles a minute. Patty was less closed-off than Stan, that helped Richie get a bead on her. Though, Richie reflected, she probably didn’t grow up anywhere close to as fucked up as Derry.

And Derry, Richie was remembering, was supremely fucked up. He had a few fuzzy flashes of childhood before Mike called, not good ones either. Remembered getting beat up by a couple of other kids, that was a good one; a clubhouse that his parents swore up and down wasn’t real, water that smelled like minerals and dirt and the way the sun glinted off of it into his eyes. For twenty-five years, that’s all he remembered when someone asked him about how he grew up. Now he was thinking that was kind of a blessing, as new shit sprung up in his memories. Other times he got jumped, and so many dead kids, and Pennywise, and how all the adults were either absent, mean, or both.

He’d never known grown-ups could be cool until he was out of Derry. Part of him probably still didn’t trust it.

Though, now that Richie himself was a fucking adult, everything coming back felt different. That shit with Bev and her dad clicked in a really awful way - and fuck, the way he’d called her a slut when he had no fucking clue what was going on was painful in retrospect. He remembered Eddie’s mom now, and he couldn’t fucking fathom how he’d ever forgotten that crazy Munchausen By Proxy bitch. Bill’s parents marriage falling apart after Georgie, Ben’s parents mostly clueless, Richie’s purposefully detached - all bad memories that were like, formative experiences. Hell, Mike’s parents had fucking died! None of them had handled that right, but nobody had taught them how to.

Maybe that was why tonight felt more like college than a bunch of 40 year olds. Doing shots, yelling over each other and shit, making dick jokes that they all actually laughed at somehow. Nothing really felt real, like consequences didn’t exist tonight. Like how when he was thirteen and had six best friends, he sort of felt invincible.

After a few drinks and a very pointed argument about who was stronger, Richie made Stan switch seats with him to arm wrestle Eddie for the honor of weakest in the group. That wasn’t playing it cool, granted, but Eddie always made him do shit he didn’t mean to. And maybe that whole wife thing had Richie feeling a little itchy.

Eddie didn’t seem to notice. Him and Ben were having a real good time joking about the uncharacteristic macho-ness of this, and that ended with Eddie turning to Richie and saying with a huge grin, “Let’s take our shirts off and kiss.” And he held his hand out.

Jesus fucking Christ.

That was a prayer, actually - Richie found himself actually begging whatever higher power existed to help him keep this shit under control. He took Eddie’s hand - not sweaty, well-manicured nails - and lost in about three seconds. Turned out Eddie was really fucking strong, under that polo and zip-up. To make up for it, he let Richie have a late game surge post-defeat, and pretend he’d put up a fight. Eddie smiled at that, and Richie’s gay ass couldn’t look away. It looked so different now, in a face that had lived twenty-seven years more than Richie remembered. It looked easy. Like maybe Eddie hadn’t been as fucking miserable as Richie was most of the years since Derry. God, that’d be great. If he found a girl who loved him and got away from his crazy ass mom and just had a good life.

At the same time, though, Richie couldn’t stop himself from being selfish, too. He noticed how quickly Eddie agreed with him about Ben’s hotness. Not that that was proof, or anything. Ben was shockingly hot, anyone should be able to admit it. But Richie’s traitorous gay little brain was like, okay but what if that was a hint he’s supposed to be picking up on? It’s not like the only options were gay and straight, anybody could be bisexual. Bev might have told him she was, he thought he remembered a conversation that in retrospect was probably more about his obvious gayness than hers.

Could wasn’t anything positive, though. It was fucking dangerous, was what it was. Richie had to stop, he had to be chill with the idea that he was the only queer in this group of losers. He _had_ to be, before he did something stupid like fuck up the best friendships he never knew he had.

“Rich,” Eddie said, in the tone of someone who was repeating it. He was giving him a look Richie definitely knew, the _Richie You’re Being a Weirdass Again_ look Richie remembered with fucking picture-perfect clarity the moment he saw it. It looked exactly the same.

“What,” Richie said blankly. It took a second for his brain to kick in. “Sorry, I was lost in Ben’s eyes.” He blew him a kiss and Ben blushed and most of everybody else cheered. Not Patty, though. Patty was fucking laser-focused on Richie’s face, a slight smile on her fact, and that was kind of scary.

“Did you remember?” Eddie said, swirling his drink around in his glass and looking at it intently. He had not been one of the cheerers either. “When Mike called, did you remember us?”

Richie really fucking wished he’d been listening to the conversation so he knew what to say, but he just told the truth. He was never great at lying to these guys anyways, only to himself. He could almost convince himself of anything, if he really tried. Like right now, he nearly believed he was just glad to get his best friends back. All of them. Definitely not any one of them in particular.

But then again, Eddie had always been kind of different, for him. And not in the same way Bev and Ben were close, or Bill and Mike. Not even like how Stan was Richie’s best friend, which, he totally was. Probably still was, judging from the way he watched Richie do an impression of Heidi Klum with a small, contented smile on his face. Eddie was a lot more, but nothing that could be put into words without sounding fucking dumb.

Eddie didn’t just listen or watch, he elbowed his way into the center of attention too. Even still. “So didja hook up or what?” he asked over the end of Richie’s bit, which was admittedly petering out.

“Nah,” Richie said. “Stan’s mom was keeping me pretty busy.” An easy laugh, but everybody was still just happy to be around each other so he got it. Richie had time to obsess over how it meant something, maybe, that Eddie was asking. Or maybe it was just like, how people got about celebrities.

To compensate - or probably overcompensate, if Richie was being honest with himself for once - he asked Eddie what he did for a living and immediately shit on it. Classic Richie, primo kindergarten logic. He’d done something like this a hundred times, asking Eddie about something dumb and letting him go just long enough so Eddie thought he was interested. Cutting him off so Eddie wouldn’t figure out Richie would listen to him read off a list of the grossest infectious parasites, or something, if that’s what Eddie wanted to talk about.

The thing that kind of killed him, though, was how Eddie didn’t miss a second. “Fuck you,” he said, brow furrowed. God, so it was still the easiest thing in the world to make Eddie mad.

“Fuck you,” Richie said with absolute delight. And everybody else was laughing, sure, but all that really mattered was how much Eddie was laughing, too. Even though he was still glaring also. Richie remembered something else now, vividly, how much it had seemed like the most impressive thing he was capable of, making Eddie laugh. Now that he’d done it, he thought maybe his younger self had a point.

There were a lot of fucked up things about this whole situation, but in that exact moment Richie couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about any of them.

Of course Eddie had seen Richie’s stand up. It went viral, for Christ’s sake. It wasn’t good, but he didn’t watch it because it was _good_. He watched it just to know what the hell everyone was talking about, and once he saw it he thought it was lame as fuck. Richie thought so too, it was clear from the look on his face as he delivered those asinine jokes about pussy and farts. Eddie watched the guy be more obscene and less funny than probably anybody alive, and for some reason Eddie still hadn’t been able to look away.

Then, someone tried to heckle him. It was mostly unintelligible. “Ripped off?” Richie repeated into the mic. His voice sounded a little different now that he was off script. “You think I ripped that bit off? Yeah, like I ripped your mom’s dress off last night. Go fuck yourself, nobody else wants to tell jokes this fucking depraved. Fuck, I don’t want to, but I like having a roof over my head.”

The crowd had yelled and whistled, the sound sharp through his earbuds. Eddie had frowned and turned the volume down; for some reason he’d been almost worried about getting caught watching this at lunch.

Richie snorted and had a drink, and while he did so the guy tried to get involved again. Again, it was hard to make him out. “Well, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Richie had replied with a grin spreading across his face. “But I brought your mom back from the dead for the explicit purpose of fucking her. We thought it was best not to tell you, but. You found me out. That’s right!” he said loudly, turning back to the rest of the room and slipping into a master-of-ceremonies-type Voice. “Talk about zombie motherfucker, am I right or am I ri-”

That’s when he got punched in the face - the whole reason the clip went viral anyways. _Comedian attacked by heckler!_ Eddie didn’t watch past the initial hit; it turned his stomach for whatever reason. Probably the thought of anyone down on the floor of a disgusting comedy club basement. He’d swiped away. But the one thing he’d thought was that making those dumb jokes about some idiot’s mom was the only part of this clip when this Richie guy seemed to actually like doing his job.

That was what he thought about when he laid eyes on Richie, standing next to that gong. Well, first he remembered how Richie would always try and steal the fucking hammock, that’s what he actually thought about first. Never knew when to stop, didn’t give a shit about whatever he promised, always infuriating Richie fucking Tozier and how he’d always be in that fucking hammock. But then he remembered that clip of him, and he could know now, for a fact, that Richie had only sounded like himself for that last part.

Secondarily, and not in any capacity that would ever be said out loud, Eddie also kind of thought, okay, so Richie had finally grown into those glasses. Apparently, it had taken getting really fucking tall, but he’d gotten there.

It was like Ben said. Now that they were together, things were coming back. All kinds of things, and Eddie wasn’t ready for any of them. He had to be back at work on Monday, and he had to call Myra at least twice a day and text her too so she didn’t panic and do something dumb like report him kidnapped again, and he had to above all not do anything to fuck this up. These friends he suddenly couldn’t remember how he lived without, they made him feel like he could crawl out of his skin, the same feeling he’d had since being a little kid of being like one mistake away from the end of his life. Or, now, with them, from the end of everyone else’s. Something bad was happening here, Eddie could sense it, but it wasn’t bad yet so he told himself to shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment.

It was easier than usual to turn off his worst case scenario obsessing tonight, he had a pretty good distraction. Namely, his six favorite people in the world, no contest, which was kind of weird considering how he hadn’t seen them for like three fucking decades. Like, why didn’t any of the people since then make the list? Looking at Stan and Patty, Eddie wondered how guilty he was supposed to feel about not bringing Myra. Were they supposed to be bringing spouses? But Bev hadn’t brought hers, and Bill hadn’t brought his, so Eddie figured he hadn’t fucked up too bad.

Interesting, though, that Richie - and Ben and Mike, sure, but for the moment Richie - was still single. Most of the fun Eddie remembered ever having was within about four feet of Richie and that big fucking mouth of his. He was magnetic when he got going, he had stage presence or that it factor or whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. His voices had gotten so much better, too. And sure, he was an asshole but he could take a hint. He’d shut up when he needed to. Hadn’t they had some sort of system about that, a way of letting him know when he’d gone too far?

Whatever. It wasn’t that interesting. It was only interesting, actually, Eddie corrected himself, because of how fucking defensive Richie was about it. Any talk of partners or wives had his shoulders tense up, like, visibly, and he’d stare deep into the middle of the table and not answer so obviously it kind of hurt to watch. Eddie couldn’t be the only one noticing that, right? Bev probably noticed, she and Richie had a weird simpatico thing and yet somehow zero chemistry whatsoever. Some part of Eddie had always been sort of waiting for Richie to tell him he was the third guy in the group to be in love with Bev. They were always making each other crack up - not hard to do, they were the two easiest laughs in the group - and tripping each other and shit. But that conversation never happened and apparently Richie never found anyone else either, and that all added up to one thing: weird.

A lot of things were weird though, too. Like Stanley being married and slightly less of an uptight prick. His wife seemed cool or whatever. Patty. She was happy and warm and fit in, and Eddie kind of hated her because she made him think about how Myra wouldn’t like any of this, not a bit. He’d gotten the call from Mike and crashed his car and remembered, all in about ten seconds, and then he sat in his car and his first thought was what lie he’d need to tell Myra to explain the crash and him leaving. Above all, it couldn’t be the truth.

In the end, he figured less was more. “I got into an accident, no it’s not your fault, yes I’m fine, I’m just going to take a long weekend away for myself with some friends from growing up.” He rehearsed it and delivered it as planned, his packed luggage already in the car, and as he was driving towards Maine he realized it felt probably more like an escape than it should, considering he was driving from his home with his wife to his hometown he’d forgotten for half his life to meet some virtual strangers.

They weren’t strangers, though. He knew everything about them. The moment he saw Mike and Bill and felt like he’d finally found something he didn’t know he’d lost, in that exact moment Eddie realized that this wasn’t just some middle school reunion ass crap. This was big, maybe the biggest, best thing he’d ever been a part of, and Myra wouldn’t understand any part of it. That feeling only grew as the table filled up. Myra would hate Bev laughing too loud, and Richie eating fried garbage as usual, and Stan correcting them about factual inaccuracies every other fucking sentence, and Ben getting hammered - all of them getting hammered, really. She’d hate all of it, all these people that Eddie was starting to suspect were the only type of family he’d ever really wanted. But he wasn’t ready to go there, or think about how the woman he married kind of hated seeing him happy unless she could directly attribute it to herself. That wasn’t on the table tonight so Eddie just ordered another drink and assigned all of that to the box in his head that he locked up and didn’t fucking touch.

Part of the contents of that box got out that night, though. Those nightmare fucking creatures that came out of the fortune cookies, the message from It that had seven words. _Looks like you’re here just in time._ And then those fucking creatures shot out of them, and memories were coming back faster - Eddie remembered fucking running from things just like this before, nightmares that could make you bleed in real life. It made him feel like he was twelve years old again, and not a fucking forty year old man with like, property and assets and a career. Screaming and fleeing had a way of equalizing things.

Eventually Eddie noticed that Patty didn’t seem to see what they were seeing. She was holding onto Stan’s hand the whole time, quietly watching. For that matter, Stan didn’t seem to be as totally freaked out as the rest of them either. When Mike raised a chair over his head Patty spoke up. “Hey,” she said firmly. “Stop. This isn’t real.”

“It’s not real,” Stan repeated.

Fuck. That was how things worked; Eddie forgot that too. He clamped his eyes shut, and then opened them again and everything was normal. It was fine. Everything was fine.

The waitress probably didn’t agree, but that was fine. Bill insisted on paying and they all shouted at him to tip well over his complaints that he was going to anyways. Fuck, Eddie had forgotten what it was like when they all ganged up on somebody, the fucking cacophony that had its own rhythms and everything. Bev always picked one thing to repeat, highest voice, on top of everybody. Stan waited for maximum impact, but Richie didn’t seem to care what the best time was, he just let loose a stream of steady bullshit. Mike abstained - too mature - but Ben could be counted on for a couple deep-voiced additions. And Eddie, he discovered about himself, mostly ended up repeating the best part of what Richie said, louder.

Fuck. Every single moment of the night highlighted how Eddie had never known a single person as well as he still knew the Losers. Even with the, like, murderous clown demon who was evidently back in Derry and still just as murderous as ever, even though Mike had lied, and even though Eddie was arguing for his right to leave right next to Richie, on the drive back to the Derry Town House he thought about it and didn’t totally agree with himself. A much more quiet part of him was going, hold on, hold on. It’s not like the only two options were to fight a murder clown or leave. Were they going to exchange phone numbers? Organize a Facebook group or something? Not that Eddie had a Facebook, but he would probably get one to keep in touch with these guys. That was kind of the whole point, he did know that, he just never had a person he wanted to keep in touch with before. All of a sudden, though, the thought of just flying back to Myra and not ever seeing Mike’s disappointed face or Bev’s face squished up with laughter or Richie, that wasn’t a fucking option. It just wasn’t.

The thought of trying to tell Myra about any of this, though, was enough to give him an ulcer if he dwelled on it any longer.

Whatever. He’d be the first person up, guaranteed. None of them were morning people, and that shit didn’t change. They could figure it out then.

Bev loved every single one of them so much, but she was also so, so relieved to close her door that night. Knowing who everyone was just made it worse that she’d been dreaming of their deaths every night. All of their deaths. She saw Stan slitting his wrists and Eddie being disemboweled when she closed her eyes. So she was ready to pretend to sleep for a few hours; she was looking forward to it. The first night she’d spent alone in a while.

But the Losers didn’t work like that.

In a way, it wasn’t a surprise when Richie crashed in, still tipsy, long after everyone else was asleep. She wasn’t even mad. It was easy to say that the guys were like her brothers. Richie was the one she felt it with the most, though, something she suspected they both felt but neither of them had ever tried to explain. Even now, as a full adult woman, she was having trouble putting words to it, why the tall, drunk comedian flopped facedown across the end of her bed made her heart swell up, why she was glad he was here when all she’d wanted five minutes ago was to be left alone.

They didn’t talk particularly much. They didn’t have what he and Eddie had either, that craziness only the two of them could stand. She never wound him up, and he never went for the kill. They didn’t have to be loud or funny or anything, they could just be together. They’d been together a lot as kids, when they were both avoiding going home.

There was something he was trying to get out. He wasn’t doing a good job. “Bev,” he said. “Beverly. Bev-o. Miss Beverly Marsh.”

“If you’re trying to ask for something, you should know better than to try the British voice,” Bev said, with a smile she couldn’t keep off her face or out of her voice.

“But I’ve gotten so much better at it,” he said in the aforementioned Voice.

He had actually gotten better. Bev sat on one side of the bed against the headboard. “Ten minutes,” she said, knowing it would mean more like an hour.

“Why, like you’re gonna sleep?” he said into the bedspread. “Or like I would, for that matter.” Richie rolled over onto his back, closer to her. His head was near her knee. “Bev.” He was looking at her, but she didn’t return the eye contact. 

“I’m here,” she said, even though she wasn’t. Tom would be so mad if he knew a man was in her hotel room with her. She had a brief image of Richie being thrown across the room like any of the times she had been, his head breaking the mirror, and shivered. Her pajamas were sleeveless, but thankfully she’d had the presence of mind to put a long cardigan on before answering Richie’s knock. It was something she could hug tight now, to keep herself together.

“Bevvy,” Richie said with the kind of smile on his face that meant he knew she wasn’t amused, but he didn’t need her to be amused. The thing about Richie, the thing she knew that no one else seemed to have figured out, was that he didn’t need to be found funny. He just needed to be looked at. And looking was the least any guy had asked of her. It kept her grounded, too, looking at Richie and knowing that he was getting everything he wanted from her.

“Bev,” he said a little more seriously, and looked at her with more intensity until she looked back. “What do you remember?” he asked.

She saw him dying before she knew his name, that's what she remembered. “What a question. That’s why you’re in here? To ask about the memories we’re all getting back?” Bev asked, majorly skeptical. “Don’t you want to know what I thought of you before I remembered Derry?”

Richie frowned, twisted so he was looking at her more right side up. “Wait, what? You knew who I was?”

“Please,” Bev scoffed. “That clip of you getting punched in the face was everywhere.”

“Oh great. There goes my dignity.”

“Right, you had a lot of that left.”

A grin spread across Richie’s face, and he let himself fall back on the bedspread. “Jesus, Bev, I missed you so much,” he said. “Like I didn’t know, obviously, but I’ve gotta say a couple things are making a ton more sense. My types, for one.”

Bev did not want to talk about her types. “Your types,” she repeated. Richie only ever needed a little bit of a push to keep himself going.

“I mean I guess they aren’t supposed to be a mystery for most people,” Richie said a little dreamily. He was staring at the ceiling. “It’s only a mystery when the first seventeen years of your life are a black hole. All your best friends and everything.”

“I know.”

“I know you know, that’s the crazy thing about all of this, that you know. Do you remember how, uh. Okay it was before you left, so it had to be maybe sixth grade?” His tone made it clear how crazy that sounded; Bev had to agree.

“I left the next summer, so.”

Richie nodded, took his glasses off and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Sixth grade. We had some class together.”

“We had a couple classes together,” Bev said. “Except Stan. And Ben who was in AP classes.”

“Shit. That’s right. Okay. God, I feel like fucking Memento over here.” Richie flung an arm out dramatically. “It goes without saying that I was the class clown, right? We’ve all put that together?”

Listening to Richie talk about nothing was the most natural thing in the world. Bev was feeling more settled by the moment. “Yeah, no shit,” she said.

“Right, so. I think I was, like. Actually behaving myself for once, I don’t remember why.” He paused for a second. “Wait. It was a lesson on fossils and shit, we were talking about evolution. Cool shit for once.”

Bev had a vivid memory, Mrs. Wexler pulling up a big branching tree of every living thing. She’d been explaining, wary of how much of the class seemed to be actually paying attention for once. Bev had glanced at Richie - she was always glancing at the boys when they were around, just to check - and found him listening quietly, eyes big behind his glasses.

Richie was still talking. “And somebody raised their hand and said, ‘But Mrs. Wexler, if whales split off so long ago, where does Eddie’s mom fit in?’” He was doing a Voice, but Bev heard it in her memory too. “And Wex tried to shut it down, but the kid doubled down on it and Eds lost his fucking mind.”

“I remember,” she said faintly. She could hear it. _First of all, FUCK you, it’s a thyroid problem, asshole. Ever heard of it? It’s genetic, would you make fun of somebody who had cancer? Are you that much of a fucking degenerate?_

“And then that kid like, sneezed on him? On purpose? Kids are fucking cruel, huh?” Richie’s eyes were closed, but he didn’t seem to be in danger of falling asleep. “And Eddie screamed bloody murder.”

Bev couldn’t believe she’d forgotten the lungs that kid had. No sooner had Eddie screamed than Richie had whipped his head around to tell the kid to fuck off too, loudly and creatively. They both ended up in lunch detention. “You got involved,” she said. “Didn’t you?”

“Course, I had to,” Richie shrugged it off. He never wanted to talk about how much he did for Eddie, probably because then he’d have to admit to himself how much it actually was. Bev didn’t say that, though. She sat there, thinking about how fast all of them had thrown themselves in front of danger when anyone else was involved. Bravery was contagious back then. She wondered what any of them would say if she told them about Tom.

“Bev,” Richie said.

“What, babe?” she answered. It felt natural. Maybe she’d done it before. Richie didn’t comment on it.

“A lot of stuff is like, coming back, y’know?” he said. “Stuff about how we grew up and everything.”

“Like what?”

“Like how Eddie’s mom was definitely like, slowly killing him. I’m surprised he didn’t go all Gypsy Rose on her ass, y’know?” Richie waited for Bev to laugh, and when she did he giggled too. “Real miracle of our childhood was Eddie keeping it together with her. We didn’t appreciate it enough. But like, I also didn’t remember how my parents didn’t give a shit about me until we left Derry. I just remembered how they were after.”

“Better?” she asked.

“Yeah, a lot better. Dad actually noticed I was alive, and Mom told me some shit about how she wasn’t good at being a mom but she was trying. I guess she had to rationalize what this place did to them.”

Bev nodded, keeping her head purposefully empty. She didn’t need to remember any of that. But that didn’t seem to be an option tonight either, just like being alone hadn’t been. “Bev,” Richie said a third time, and she knew what he was going to ask before he managed to get it out. “I was thinking about your dad,” he finally said.

“Why?” Bev asked. She thought she did a pretty good job of sounding normal and dismissive, but Richie looked at her in a way that implied otherwise.

“There were some… things, y’know, that we didn’t know as kids but I’m thinking back, and-”

After hearing him say that much Bev immediately decided she wasn’t interested in hearing him talk about the subject literally ever again. “Stop,” she said.

“Well, I’m just saying that if I’d known-”

“I didn’t want any of you to know anything,” she snapped at him.

“No?” he asked, his tone sharpening too. “You’re telling me you never wished I’d stop calling you a fucking slut all the time? That was just _fine_ with you, even though you were going through all that other shit?”

Bev hugged her cardigan to herself tighter. “Yeah, Rich, that’s what I’m saying.”

“How the fuck does that make any sense?”

“You’re giving yourself too much credit,” she told him. “I knew you weren’t serious after the first week.” She didn’t know the exact moment, but she remembered having it figured out. She could hear Richie’s dumb little kid voice in her head now. _Please, Bev’s banged so many dudes one more dick wouldn’t make any difference. Come on, go blow the guy at least so he’ll let us in_.

She could have made him stop. _Beep beep Richie_. They’d established that already, Bill and Stan teaching the others through example. She’d used it, even, and he’d always stopped on a dime. But that time, Bev remembered taking another route. Richie never wanted her to follow through. He wanted one of them to tell him he was a dick, and another one of them have a better idea just to shut him up, and above all, he wanted to be part of the whole thing.

_You blow him, if you’re so invested in that tactic_ , she heard herself saying. _I’ve got a better idea. I think one of us should buy a ticket and let the others in through the side door._ _Who looks oldest?_

Richie had gone pink, kept his mouth shut for the rest of the planning and even the first ten minutes of the movie, whatever R-rated gorefest they’d been so invested in seeing. He could dish it but couldn’t take it. He seemed kind of embarrassed about it, maybe. So Bev held up her bag of Skittles, slightly sticky, and raised her eyebrows at him.

Richie cupped his hand and she poured some into his hand, the sound loud in the quiet theater. Bill, on Richie’s other side, glanced over at them. She could feel Ben on her other side looking too. But Richie didn’t say anything, and nobody else did either.

The next time he made a joke about her boobs, she rolled her eyes because she knew he wasn’t going to try anything. They’d been cool after that, which was convenient because they were the last kids at school pretty much every day.

“Your parents,” Bev said. She’d been silent for too long; her mouth was dry and she had to clear her throat. “I always wondered why you never had curfew.”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “Barely talked to me. Or each other, I guess. But to be fair, I was a pretty obnoxious little kid.”

“No you weren’t,” Bev said.

“Hell yeah I was, and I turned into a supremely obnoxious adult. That’s how you can tell. Dead giveaway.”

Bev looked at her lap. “It’s not too much to ask, for your parents to see you.”

“Whatever,” he said. “I guess.” He put his glasses back on, a little crooked. “You know, it’s not too much to ask, either, for a father who doesn’t-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

She felt him sitting up. Then he put his hand on her knee; she wasn’t looking and flinched. “Long day tomorrow,” he said. “We should probably at least pretend we’re trying to sleep.”

“Yes.” Now she _couldn’t_ look at him.

He was silent for a moment. “Did I fuck this up?” he finally said, uncharacteristically straight-forward.

“No, of course not.” It sounded insincere even to her ears. Reluctantly, Bev made glancing eye contact with him. He was just looking at her, in a way that maybe she’d always been afraid of. When Richie managed to actually shut up and listen, he really listened.

“Okay,” he said. “Because I really don’t plan on dying here, even for Mike, but I don’t want to forget you guys again. So can we-”

“I see all of us dying,” Bev blurted. “Every night. If we don’t all stay, or like. Sometimes I see Stanley dying before he makes it here, or Eddie getting-” She shouldn’t tell him that, it would break his heart. Her eyes were suddenly full of tears; she wiped them away to look up at him again. “We all die, if we don’t face this thing together. So if you don’t stay, it doesn’t matter.”

Richie blinked at her. “Well shit, Bev. If you wanted me to stay you could’ve just asked,” he finally said.

“Right,” she said, abandoning the pretense of nonchalance for good. “Because _that’s_ how we work.”

He was only quiet for a second. “Look,” he said then. “We’re fucking middle-aged now, so I’m gonna hug you, okay? Is that a normal, sort of…”

Bev was almost relieved by that suggestion, nodded and reached out for him. Richie smelled like booze and nervous sweat and also kind of like an eight hour flight. She didn’t really care, though, because he was holding her so gingerly, and then as the seconds passed, so steadily. It was a point of calm in the middle of all of this chaos. He kissed the side of her head as they separated, and she couldn’t explain to him why it made her cry so she just avoided his eyes again and wiped her nose several times.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Except to bed. But. I’ll stay tomorrow.”

“Eddie,” Bev managed to say. Honestly, it was more of a hiccup.

“Fuck him. Don’t worry about Eddie, I’ll talk to him. We’re staying.” He said it like it was easy. Maybe it could be. Maybe she’d spent so long not telling people important things because she’d forgotten how easy it could be, to trust someone to hear you and try to make it better.

“Okay,” Bev said. “I believe you.” She hoped it sounded like _I love you_. That was really what she meant.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay look.... do I have self control? obviously not. this will be four chapters. let's not dwell on previous chapter counts
> 
> this one goes out to emily who, in a stroke of eloquent genius, described bill hader as “someone I wouldn’t let watch my children, but at the same time someone whom I would like to watch my children” and that really boils it all down.

Stan slept fitfully. Patty felt every twitch and startle awake from her usual position, sleeping with her arm over his chest. He was up at five for good, pacing across the small room quietly enough and for long enough that Patty went back to sleep. When she did wake up, it was at him coming back in the room, fully dressed.

“Hey,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She could feel her hair doing something crazy but it wasn’t time to pay attention to that yet.

“Morning,” Stan answered with a hint of a smile. His love was as warm as the sunshine coming in the window, as warm as the mug of coffee he handed her. “Eddie’s up,” he said. “And Bev.”

Patty nodded, and leaned in for a kiss. He’d had some coffee too, she could taste it. “Okay,” she said after a second, prompting him.

“We talked, a little bit. About what we’ll do today. Bev has visions,” he added quickly on the end, like he thought he could sneak it past her.

“Does she?” Patty inquired.

Stan nodded. “She sees futures,” he said quietly. “Not _the_ future, but possible ones. The Deadlights… when Pennywise got her last time, that’s when she… got the ability, to. She saw me dying before I got here, she…” He rubbed his hands in his eyes. Patty did her best not to look at the thin scars in the crook of his elbow, the ones that had faded to nearly nothing. “And she was almost right, so. She said if we leave everybody dies. All of us. So I want to stay.” He at her, braced for impact. “Is this it? Is this the moment you decide I’m crazy?”

“No, darling,” she said. “It’s the moment I believe in prophetic visions.” She’d seen something at dinner - not as vividly as the rest of them, but ghosts of some sort. Hazy creatures. Patty watched, and noted how the simple reminder of reality brought Stan out of it.

“Okay,” she said after she’d had a sip of coffee and a bit of a think. The sun had creeped one degree further onto the quilt she was under. “So everyone’s agreed to stay?”

Stan nodded. “She told Richie last night, he’ll stay. She told Eddie something that made him agree to stick it out too, I don’t know, I didn’t hear. He’s-” There was a loud thump from the hall and then cursing. “He’s bringing his luggage back upstairs,” Stan said with a bit of a smile.

“What’s the deal with Eddie?” Patty asked, keeping her voice low. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Stan smiled. “From what I gathered last night, his wife is his mom, part two,” he said. He’d told her a lot about Eddie’s mom. “I think he’s a little touchy on the subject.”

“I see.”

“And the absolute last way to get Eddie to change his mind is to tell him to. He has to realize it himself, so. I’m sure he’ll come around,” Stan said. She couldn’t tell if he really believed it or just needed to right now. She didn’t suppose it mattered much, either way.

“Well,” Patty said after a moment. “I guess that concern will have to come second to the shapeshifting murdering clown.”

“Seems wise,” Stan agreed solemnly.

Mike led the planning for the day, once everybody woke up. Patty liked Mike. He had the air of a man who had too many things in his brain; he kept beginning sentences and backtracking before he finished. “We should start at the clubhouse,” he said in the end. “I’ll explain the tokens on the way.”

It sounded like a bunch of horse shit, if Patty was being perfectly honest. Tokens and a ritual or whatever. She didn’t know enough to say that, obviously, but as far as she was concerned this was all malarky of the highest order. They hadn’t had any tokens the first time around, she’d clarified that point; it made no sense for them to need them now. But, she supposed, maybe Mike was trying to connect them to this place again, to remind them what they were fighting for. Either way, she didn’t object. She held Stan’s hand and listened on the walk and found the clubhouse with all of them, when Ben fell through the ceiling.

Stan had described the clubhouse to her but she thought he was exaggerating, so it was quite a surprise to find it exactly as he remembered, just a bit more dusty. The floor was packed dirt, the walls fuzzy with roots, little treasures stored all around. Ben really must’ve had a gift for building things, if he’d patched this up as a pre-teen. He smiled when she said as much, put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “It was mostly intact,” he said, and Patty thought she could love Ben easily.

Things began to Happen, then. Richie, of course, scared the shit out of everyone as a prank, earning eye rolls and a “Seriously, dude?” from Eddie. Mike explained the token thing a little more. Stan found the shower caps he’d brought for everyone to share, and picked out the one that was his.

“I guess this could be my token,” he said, with no particular care.

Stan had never been attached to tangible items, that was the thing. There was a reason his hobby consisted mainly of the experience of seeing things. The best things he ever gave her were trips she’d never forget, golden little afternoons and evenings bathed in sun. Road trips to Alabama and North Carolina, sitting on beaches or hillsides or in little cabins with beers and tea and mulled wine. Stan practiced at it, he built happiness methodically, put it together piece by piece. She was starting to think he’d been trying to put his friends back together, or his mind, or both. But, the idea that any one little thing could be tied to him enough to mean anything was so foolish Patty couldn’t take the rest of it seriously. So, when Mike told everyone they needed to go alone, Patty couldn’t keep herself from speaking up.

“Why? We weren’t alone for this.”

“Well,” Mike answered uneasily. “I mean. Yeah. But that’s not ideal. It’s better if we go alone.”

“Better for who?” Stan said. “For It? We’re easier targets alone, we know that.”

Mike could sense that he was losing the group’s trust, Patty saw it in his nervous glance around at the room. “Guys,” he said.

Patty watched some intense eye contact around the room - Stan to Richie and Richie to Bev, then Bev to Stan and Ben and finally, Bill. Bill was the one who spoke. “Is there anything that explicitly says we ha-have to be alone? Or is that your b-b-best guess?” he said.

“There isn’t any explicit… I mean,” Mike hesitated. “Well, it’s not like there’s a list of instructions. But I’ve been studying this, and I really think-”

“Hey, I have an idea. Fuck that,” Richie said after a second. “I’m not going anywhere alone, that’s like, the first thing we learned. Wanna come with, Eds? Hit up the arcade? I’m a big old nerd lord, that’s my spot for sure.”

“Don’t, okay, with the-” Eddie cut himself off with an eye roll. “Fine. Yeah, I’ll come. But if we do your thing first, you have to be cool about mine.”

Richie bounced on his toes, hands in his pockets. “Duh,” he said, and that was it. Patty wondered if everyone saw how Richie melted under Eddie’s attention, or if that was something that had been happening so long nobody else even noticed anymore. “We should all pair up,” he added. “Buddy system. Quick, Bill and Ben, fight over Bev so things feel normal.”

Stan caught Patty’s eye and returned her What The Fuck look with the biggest smile she’d seen since Mike’s phone call. He was so happy, in the middle of all of this inconceivable danger. Just so happy she was here, and all of them were, and that’s when Patty decided that losing wasn’t an option.

“No one’s fighting over anyone,” Ben began after an awkward pause. “Bev’s her own person.”

“Come with me?” Bev said to him. “I’m heading to my old place. I could use some backup.”

Ben turned bright pink and squeaked out agreement.

Curiously, Bill didn’t seem all that upset, for what a big deal Richie made it out to be. Though, Patty had seen the wedding ring on Bill’s hand, so she supposed he’d had time to get over Beverly if he needed it. Most people didn’t marry high school sweethearts. Few even stuck with their college sweethearts, Patty knew she was lucky in that regard among many others. There was something very cute about Ben and Bev, anyways. He adored her, obviously, and always listened. Patty knew very little about Bev past what Stan knew - so nothing past age twelve, basically - but she saw how the other woman flinched, and she’d seen a light bruise on Bev’s chest before she adjusted her jacket. With all that in mind, Patty thought that maybe more than anyone, Bev deserved someone who listened.

“That leaves us,” Bill said, looking at Mike. That seemed like a good match too; Bill was least intimidated by Mike’s gravitas, and had what Patty thought might be the worst memory to face down.

Mike gave up on fighting. “Alright,” he sighed. “Meet back at the town house when you’ve got your tokens. We’ll head to Neibolt together from there.”

“Oh so we can be together for that part,” Richie began.

To cut him off, Eddie shoved him towards the ladder, a very powerful shove that sent Richie stumbling. “Okay, we’re leaving,” Eddie said, in a tone similar to a parent whose child has embarrassed them. “Let’s go, Rich, come on.”

“Be safe,” Stan said in the driest deadpan. Eddie gave him an amused look in return, as he passed them.

When Eddie’s eyes got to Patty, she got a look she had trouble assessing and then a curt nod. Somehow, it felt like an improvement for their burgeoning relationship.

“What if I farted right now,” Richie said on the ladder.

“Jesus Christ, Richie, try acting like you’re actually an adult for once in your life,” Eddie grumbled. “Go! Go or I’ll push you out of my way and do this shit on my own, I swear to fucking God-”

“I’m going!” Richie protested. Patty saw a sliver of a smile on his face before he was all the way out and out of view.

Bev was smiling too, so this was probably normal behavior for them. “Let’s get this over with,” she said to Ben, and the two of them climbed out next.

Then Mike and Bill went on their quests too, which left Patty and Stan, climbing out of this little clubhouse and locking the door behind them. Stan looked at his friends’ backs, moving through spots of sunlight and shade as they trekked back to civilization. “Do you wish you were headed off with them?” Patty asked.

“No,” Stanley said. “No, I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know that any of them could’ve… I mean.” One hand came up, maybe unconsciously, to touch the thin scars around the perimeter of his face. “I really need you,” he said. His eyes were far away. “ _Because_ you weren’t here last time.”

“Dearest,” Patty said, and threw her arms around him. She could feel the fear in him, in the way he leaned into her.

Stan held her back, hands linked tight around the small of her back. “Babylove,” he whispered. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

“Good thing no one’s asking you to,” she said. “Good thing I wouldn’t let that happen in a million years. You hear me?”

“Always,” he answered, a promise. He let her go with great effort, and took her hand instead. “Let’s get a milkshake,” he said. “I want to show you what I remember.”

There was quite literally nothing in the world Patty would rather do than take a tour of her husband’s hometown with him. Nothing, not magic or visions or stupid Pennywise would stop her. “Show me,” she agreed. “Let’s squeeze in everything we can, because I don’t think we’re ever coming back.”

“Yeah, fuck Derry,” Stan said emphatically, and smiled again. And _that’s_ when Patty officially knew things would turn out okay, no matter what.

Eddie was quieter than he used to be. Or he was today at least, he was just walking alongside Richie down the street and saying absolutely jack shit. Richie wasn’t sure which he was more afraid of, the silence or what Eddie might say if he broke it.

In the end he said something. He couldn’t help himself. “So two comedians walk into a bar,” he began.

On top of him, the moment he spoke, Eddie also spoke. “I cannot believe you actually tell fart jokes in real life, like, when you have the option to just _not_ ,” he said furiously.

Richie snorted on accident, surprised. “What?”

“What, what?”

“You thought I was somehow better than that? In the twelve hours you’ve remembered me?”

Eddie gave him a frustrated look. Probably more frustrated now, actually, since he had to look up. He’d always been annoyed about their height difference, taking it very personally. Another one of the things Richie tried endlessly to discern meaning from and totally failed at. “No, asshat, like as opposed to your gross comedy act.”

Right. Fuck. Richie had almost forgotten that the guy he realized he was gay for saw a section of his disgustingly heterosexual stand up comedy. “And you’re a fan,” Richie said, to piss him off.

“Of course I’m not a fan, Richie, I have a brain,” Eddie said, less angrily than he would’ve as a kid. Somehow that made it more cutting. “I saw the… viral…” Eddie trailed off, suddenly hesitant.

“You saw me getting punched in the face,” Richie surmised. “Don’t tell me you forgot what that looked like.”

That was supposed to be funny. Instead Eddie didn’t say anything, and when Richie glanced over to check, his mouth was all screwed up, brow furrowed. “Fuck off, I forgot everything,” Eddie said.

Shit. He’d fucked up. Forgotten their rhythms somehow. But peacemaking wasn’t his thing, so it ended up sounding awkward. “Yeah, dude, I’m aware. We all did. You don’t have to be mad about it, or.”

“I’m not mad about that, asshole,” Eddie said, and physically guided Richie into the door of the arcade that he was about to walk right past. “What, are you gonna try to take a whole Pac-Man machine?”

God, it almost hurt how easily Eddie was slipping back into their old ways of being around each other. The bastard part of Richie’s brain that still called himself a fag sometimes reminded him that Eddie didn’t know he was so close to a certified homosexual. Through all of that confusion, though, Richie’s mouth kept moving. It was a gift. “If I was gonna take a whole machine, it’d be Street Fighter,” he said automatically. “First of all.” He knew the arcade was the place to go somehow, but he didn’t remember why until he stepped foot in here. His shoes squeaked on the shitty vinyl flooring just like always. And now - shit, fuck - he was regretting bringing Eddie with basically every atom in his body.

“First of all, fuck you,” Eddie said.

It took a second for Richie to track that, to realize he’d been unconsciously mocking Eddie’s speech patterns the way he’d always do when they were younger. He knew Eddie so well, he could tease him in his sleep - that hurt basically instantaneously. And then it took a lot more seconds for him to have anything else to say because he was looking at himself. A memory of one of the rare afternoons he wasn’t with the Losers. On purpose, actually, because he knew they’d notice how much he looked at Connor. Fucking Connor, whatever his last name was, and his blonde fucking hair. It wasn’t even that he was particularly cute, he was just so not Eddie it had been addictive, at the time. And Eddie had been so much and so not interested in spending any time at the arcade.

“Hey.” Eddie, real adult Eddie, whacked Richie’s arm a couple times. “Are you seeing something?”

Richie didn’t know how to answer. The vision faded. “No, nothing,” he said, and went over to the token machine and put a quarter in. With a series of mechanical clinks, a token came rolling out. Richie put it in his pocket, clenched his hands into fists in there and looked at the room. Not at Eddie, who was standing there watching him, definitely not at Eddie. He was looking for It. It had to have a plan, but the infuriating thing was that Richie couldn’t find any trace of It.

“Why the arcade?” Eddie asked. His voice echoed a little bit.

Richie bit his lip and tasted blood. Not now, but twenty-seven years ago. When Bowers and his buddies chased him out of here because they could just tell. And after that, the beatdowns had a point. Weirdly, Richie remembered, that had been kind of a relief.

“Cuz I’m a fucking loser,” Richie said. “Let’s go, let’s do yours.”

Eddie let himself be herded out of the building, but he was frowning. Richie knew what he’d normally do, he knew how to poke at Eddie until he forgot he was curious because he was too annoyed, but this time it was different. He couldn’t do that. He could see Connor, who he’d totally forgotten about until now, and he could see himself, gay and obvious and totally desperate, and all of a sudden the need to tell Eddie was so urgent it was a physical ache. Fuck. Richie _couldn’t_ tell him, he couldn’t ruin things right before the clown showdown.

“Did you even come here that much?” Eddie asked out on the sidewalk. He glanced back at the arcade with a frown.

“Not with you,” Richie said with a short sigh. His nerves wouldn’t survive this. “You always flipped out about the germs, remember? So I stopped asking.”

“I didn’t,” Eddie countered, and led the way down the sidewalk. “My mom did.”

“Oh, was your mom four feet tall and and a thirteen year old boy?” Richie asked sarcastically.

“No, but you already hated her, so half the time it was easier for it to be my problem.” Eddie just fucking… said that. Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Richie almost stumbled a step before he caught himself and remembered how to walk fucking normally. “Of course I hated her, she was killing you,” he said. No way to make that sound like a joke.

“She was _protecting_ me, but if you want to be dramatic about it-”

“Right, nothing’s safer than a fucking padded room. What’s the logical conclusion, there? Because to me, that sounds a lot like a coffin.”

Eddie shot him a look, dark and full of that anger Richie hardly recognized. They sped up a bit, Eddie angrily and Richie keeping pace. “What the fuck are you even saying, the whole point was that she didn’t want me to die,” Eddie said, looking straight ahead.

“No, the whole point was that she wanted you to do whatever she said,” Richie said. That had seemed obvious. “How did fucking sugar pills keep you safe, Eds, tell me that.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Richie was desperate to make his point, so he pulled out what he hoped would be a little bit of a trump card. “What about your wife?” he said, and watched Eddie immediately clench his jaw.

“What about her?”

“What did she think of your mom?”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, turned and looked Richie right in the eyes. “She liked her, actually. Even though Mom wasn’t totally sold on her.” He crossed his arms. “So what? What are you gonna say now, you think you know better than my wife does?”

The answer was on the tip of Richie’s tongue. _I think I know_ you _better than your wife does._ But to say that was to open an argument he wasn’t ready to have, so once again, Richie did what he did best and acted like an absolute fucking idiot. He had to clear his throat first. “My wife,” Richie said, in his worst Borat impression in a decade.

For a second, Eddie just blinked at him. “You are fucking impossible to talk to,” he said, and went inside.

They were at the pharmacy, Richie realized too late. That’s why Eddie insisted he be cool about it, that finally clicked too. Richie sort of regretted making that promise; the jokes were too fucking good. But now they were fighting, so he probably couldn’t make the jokes anyways. Whatever. Richie followed him in.

Eddie picked up an inhaler at the counter while Richie picked through the shelves, a little awkward. He didn’t know how to behave around a best friend you were in the middle of both an argument and a life-threatening scavenger hunt with. No real rule book for that. Richie mostly tried to be out of the way, until he caught Eddie wandering towards a dark doorway. Then he stepped in. “Eddie,” he said, and when that didn’t work, “Eds.”

That got his attention, if only for a glare at first. Then Eddie sort of came back to himself. He looked at where he was headed, then back at Richie.

“What’d you see?” Richie asked.

Eddie made a break for the door, and Richie followed. “Not that it’s any of your business, especially because you wouldn’t tell me what yours was, but.” Eddie held the door open for Richie, so like, what the fuck did that mean. “But,” Eddie continued once they were outside, “I saw the Leper again. Well, like. I saw it before, and I saw it now. Or maybe it was a memory.”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “That’s what mine was like, too. I think it’s both. It trying to get to us through a memory, or some shit like that.” This felt so stupid, and pointless. Who gave a fuck about Pennywise when Eddie and him were fighting. They walked back in silence, separated and went to their rooms, and never finished the argument.

The next hour passed in a blur. Eddie got stabbed in the face by a demented Bowers. Richie heard Bev’s scream, he ran up and saw blood spilling out of Eddie’s mouth and his heart probably stopped for a second. If they weren’t fighting, Richie would’ve still overthought how involved to be in that whole thing, second guessing and trying to fucking divine how much closeness would make Eddie mad in retrospect, once he found out about him. But now he was wondering if Eddie even wanted him near him at all, so he sort of hovered from like six feet away while Bev and Stan cleaned Eddie up with supplies Eddie himself had packed. Richie thought about joking, like wow Eddie’s fanny pack first aid kit grew up too, but then Eddie looked at him while Bev was suturing the wound closed, the type of eye contact that sent Richie’s heart racing, and Richie decided against saying anything in the end because he was a coward.

Patty was watching that all happen quietly from the couch, and Richie couldn’t decide if he wanted to collapse next to her and throw himself on her mercy to be taken care of or if trying to say Out Loud what was in his heart would kill him, so instead he stayed standing. His legs were shaking. He was starting to bite his nails again.

More shit happened. They went to find Mike and Bill, found Bowers trying to kill them instead. Richie killed Bowers, threw up, felt increasingly shaken. Somehow the death he just caused was less of a problem than the fact that he’d told Eddie what he thought was a neutral, mutually fucking agreed upon truth and Eddie was mad at him for it. For wanting Eddie to not fucking die, that was somehow the end of the world.

Actually, that wasn’t the truth and Richie knew it. It’d feel good to just think that, but what was actually going on was kind of worse in every way. Because if Eddie forgot that what his mom did to him was fucked up and had to find ways to like, rationalize it, and if his wife had seen no problem with how Sonia fucking Kaspbrak treated her kid, then Richie was getting the sense that maybe Eddie had been talking about his wife too. When he said she was just trying to protect him.

Hell, she could be. Richie wasn’t a marriage counselor. But he knew Eddie, and he knew Eddie never needed protection from anyone but his mom. So maybe that was the real transgression here, maybe that’s what he needed to apologize for. _I’m sorry I know you well enough to call bullshit._

Even as emotionally stunted as he was, Richie knew that wasn’t something he’d ever say. It wasn’t fair, and fuck if he was going to introduce passive aggressive apologies into the mix. The couple of people he’d dated since Derry, he couldn’t say he was exactly a _good_ person in a relationship. Hard to say he was anything. He liked dating, he loved having someone around that was just his person, like. Like fucking Stan and Patty, Patty was Stan’s person. Back up, always paying attention to him, putting each other first. Richie really fucking wanted that, but when it came to the stuff he had to do to get there, he whiffed it every time. Hard conversations weren’t his forte, or asking for help, or any of the things you had to do to get to the point where you could read someone’s mind like that. Not to mention the gay thing, which probably should’ve been the first thing he mentioned in this internal debate. Hard to date women when you don’t love them. Hard to date men when you hate yourself for wanting to.

“Let’s kill this fucking clown,” Richie heard himself say, but it was hard to remember how he got here.

They all went quiet in Neibolt, so Richie talked shit until Bev stopped him. “Beep beep, Richie.” Patty caught that, looked at him, and Richie wanted to fall through the floor. Could they just kill a demon without needing to talk about everything? It was practically a fucking relief when the severed head spiders almost killed him.

Whatever. They went in deeper. Patty and Mike were awfully fucking chatty all of a sudden. She had a million questions about how they won last time, and Mike had all the answers, of course, and was delighted to be asked.

“Hey,” Eddie said, falling into step next to Richie.

“Hi.” Richie wondered what Eddie would do if he puked again, as they waded through this water. It was feeling kind of touch and go, if they were about to have the rest of this argument here, in front of everybody.

Eddie didn’t say anything else, though. He stayed next to Richie for the next bit, the ritual, and when Mike told them to hold hands, Eddie held his out to Richie. Richie took it, squeezed a little too hard, but Eddie just squeezed back.

And like, of course the ritual didn’t work. Big fucking deal. Richie had always figured it was a 50/50 shot at best. That didn’t freak him out. The thing that had him shook, as the kids would say, was how Eddie grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the way when Pennywise showed up. How Eddie stuck with him as they dodged and ran. If they were gonna die, at least he would do it next to Eddie, but he had no idea for the life of him why Eddie would want that too.

One of Pennywise’s giant fucking talons came down, not on them but on Stan right in front of them, and Richie disassociated even further. It didn’t seem real. It seemed like Stan was fine, and It’s claw had just gone through him. “What the fuck!” Eddie shouted, and Richie couldn’t even work up anything to answer.

“I’m fine,” Stan yelled after a second, and he did look pretty fine. He looked at Patty, who was a few feet away. She didn’t look like a woman who’d just seen the end of her husband’s life. She had a little bit of a smile on her face. “It’s not real,” Stan said after a second, so quiet Richie was basically lipreading not hearing. And Patty scrambled over to grab the fence post from Bev, and then she threw it as hard as she could, straight at Pennywise’s dumbass clown face and It went down screaming. They had seconds, maybe.

“What the fuck, why didn’t It just kill you?” Eddie demanded.

“Because I’m not scared,” Stan said.

The others ran over, and Bill kept glancing over at the other side of the room, where It was still howling. “What do you mean?” Mike said. “You know we could die.”

“I don’t think so,” Stan said, stubborn as always. “There’s nothing It can do to scare me. I have Patty.”

“And he’s told me,” Patty nodded, looking between all of them. “What he’s afraid of.” 

“Right,” Richie said after a heartbeat. “Sure. Group therapy to defeat the demon clown, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Rich,” Bev said.

“Safe fucking space, let’s go, let’s share our deepest fears.”

“What is it for you?” Stan said.

Richie’s heart jumped into his mouth. “Pass. I’ll go last.”

“You can’t _pass_ ,” Eddie began witheringly.

“Guys,” Bill said, and Richie followed his eyes to see Pennywise beginning to crawl towards them menacingly.

“Someone go,” Patty said, looking at them all. Richie saw absolute love in her eyes, the kind of clear warmth of a glass of whiskey or something. She believed in them, in the exact same way Stan always did. The way Stan was still believing in them, right next to her.

Bev, in all her endless bravery, spoke first. “I’m afraid of my father,” she said, ice cold. “Even now that he’s dead. And I’m afraid of my husband too. That they’ll kill me.”

“Bev,” Ben began.

Pennywise was on them now, so they scattered, tripping over each other. Richie and Eddie flattened themselves against the wall. It reached down with a hideous screech for Patty who hadn’t moved, but Patty looked that fucking clown in the eye and delivered a pitch perfect rendition of the most insulting phrase known to high schoolers. “You’re pathetic.” It’s grasping hand passed through her arm like a ghost.

It paused, shrank, and bared its teeth again. “I am the _Eater of Worlds_ ,” It insisted.

“I’m scared I’ll die alone,” Ben bellowed out of nowhere.

“Overshare,” Eddie said under his breath. Fuck, Richie laughed despite himself.

It had stumbled again, when Ben yelled, so Mike went next. Mike who never met a cause he wouldn’t try to keep them from dying for, he stepped out into the open and spread his arms out. “I’m afraid I can’t keep anyone safe,” he said plainly, and It screeched at him, rushed in to bite at Mike’s shoulder.

Mike looked at Bill, a last gesture sort of thing, and Bill said, “It’s okay. You don’t need to.” And instead of Mike’s arm getting bitten off and him bleeding to death, It couldn’t touch him.

“I’m so s-s,” Bill began, and then restarted in a shout. “I’m scared Georgie was my fault, and I’m a bad person. But it wasn’t,” he added. A show-off, Richie thought. Getting to the part where he loved himself faster than everyone else. “It wasn’t my fault. And you’re a coward,” Bill added to Pennywise. “Going after children because they’re easier targets.” His stutter was gone. And It shrunk even more.

“Go, Eddie,” Richie said.

“You go, shithead.”

“I already called last.”

Eddie shut his eyes and said something to himself that Richie couldn’t hear, but it looked like he wasn’t going to say shit. And Richie couldn’t live in a world where he fucking mocked Eddie out of the only thing that would save their lives, so he was sincere for once in his life and said, “Go, Eddie. Please. I can’t watch you die.”

“Fuck you,” Eddie said, and opened his eyes to look at Richie. He raised his voice and said all in one breath, “I’m afraid I’ll get something contagious and you’ll all finally see there’s something wrong with me and leave me alone forever, asshole, is that what you want to hear?”

“Kind of,” Stan said cheerfully. “Last but not least, Rich, c’mon.”

Shit. Did Richie want to die more than he wanted to tell his friends he was gay? It was genuinely a toss-up. He opened his mouth, but couldn’t make anything come out.

Richie was such a chickenshit, Eddie could kill him for it. As fucking always, he goaded everybody else into doing something that he didn’t have the balls follow through on himself, except this time he could actually die from it. Pennywise was thrashing in panic, in agony, and whipped around to look between all of them.

“Richie,” Eddie said.

That got to him. Richie looked at Eddie, and he said, “There’s nothing wrong with you.” Serious as a heart attack. “And even if there was, I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re going into the fucking ground unless you-”

Eddie cut himself off when Richie nodded. God, Richie looked so tired, but he pushed up off the wall, bounced on the balls of his feet for a second, and looked right at Pennywise. “I guess I’m just scared of how horny I am for you,” he said at the top of his lungs.

“ _Beep fucking beep_!” Bill yelled. “Richie!”

“I’m not joking,” Richie said obstinately. “I’m gay, and I think Pennywise is just the fucking sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and that terrifies me.” He put a hand over his heart. “Because he’s just… _so_ fucking ugly. Like, what does it say about my type?”

It was much smaller, the size of a semi maybe, but it was still heart-stopping to see It make a rush at Richie. Eddie froze again, sure he was going to see his best friend die right in front of him all for a stupid fucking joke and the future opened up in front of him like a dark empty hole, like, what was the point of living if Richie was going to die, seriously. Eddie was already deciding he’d need to figure out a way to follow Richie wherever he went, into the Deadlights or whatever, when It got to Richie and tried to whack him in half. But instead of Richie’s top half flying off his bottom half, It went right through Richie too.

Eddie couldn’t hear anything for like a minute after that, tinnitus drowned out everything else, because that meant Richie was telling the truth. And all that shit about wanting to fuck Pennywise was typical Richie bullshit to cover up the fact that he’d just come out to all of them.

Since they were all immune now, apparently, the others made pretty quick work of It. Patty led the charge of fucking insulting It to death, and Richie was right next to her doing what he did best, and Eddie followed, of course. He’d follow Richie to the end of the world, he’d been ready to just a few seconds ago. That hadn’t changed, but. Something had.

They all trooped out to the quarry afterwards. The jump felt just as high as when they were young. Bev went first, again - Eddie was starting to think she was the bravest of them all - and they all followed in ones and twos. Grey water, Eddie wanted to remind them, but his brain was too full of static to get any words out. He jumped in, before Richie and after Bill, and held his breath and stayed under as long as he could.

Eddie didn’t care, of course. It didn’t matter if Richie was gay or not - or that he was, actually, because he definitely was. He was only alive because he was gay. But that was fine. Mom had hated gay people, Eddie knew that and mostly avoided thinking about it. It was part of what was in the box, part of what he locked up because he had to, he just couldn’t think about all the fucked up shit that had happened to him because first of all it wasn’t that bad but also because it wasn’t relevant. Mom mostly hated gays because of what she thought about AIDS and everything, and Eddie knew better than to be afraid of that now, so. He didn’t need to dwell on the shit she was wrong about - he didn’t have the time, and mostly it wasn’t worth the fight anyways. Disagreeing with her was always a fight. 

If Richie had told him, though. Like when they were kids, if Eddie had known, things might’ve been different. Had Richie known? That’s what he kept thinking. If he had, why hadn’t Richie told him? Why didn’t he tell him today, at the arcade? Maybe they weren’t best friends anymore. They _had_ been best friends, at least in Eddie’s mind, sort of by default because Richie was the only one who didn’t get annoyed at him for talking about brain-eating parasites for the dozenth time in a week. They’d spent so much time together on the floor of Eddie’s bedroom, or in the clubhouse, or walking through the woods around the quarry - hell they’d spent so much time together today, just the two of them, and the whole time Richie hadn’t said anything.

Finally, Eddie had to come up for air. He surfaced to find Richie and Bev wrapped up tight in a hug, one singular unit of support. Both of them were crying a little bit. It was hard to look at, so Eddie looked away and accidentally found himself with Stan and Patty instead. That sucked. It was impossible to look at Patty right now and not think about Myra, and he’d been successfully avoiding thinking about Myra all day.

“What’s on your mind?” Patty asked him.

And she knew the most important things anyways, so Eddie just told her the truth. “My wife’s going to lose it, I haven’t texted her in like three hours,” he said. Then he wanted more than anything to sink back under the water so he never had to see anyone look at him like Patty did when he said that, because Patty looked at him like she understood him and that was impossible because Eddie didn’t even understand himself.

When Richie had brought Myra up earlier - he didn’t use her name, did he even know her name? - Eddie had just fucking flipped out on him instead of actually telling him what he was asking. And Richie had replied like he always did when he thought someone was really mad at him and made it into a joke, but Eddie blamed himself for that because he was the one who couldn’t bear for Richie to bring Myra up. It felt invasive, almost. Not like Richie was invading his privacy, but more like Myra was invading theirs, same as Eddie felt now. That was fucked up, right? He should want his best friend to know about his wife, and he should want Myra to know about Richie too. The way Stan was fucking so delighted every time one of them and Patty interacted, that’s how Eddie was supposed to feel. He had no idea why he didn’t feel like that. Less of an idea why he was finding it so hard to look at Richie.

“I love you, baby,” he heard Bev say to Richie as they separated, and Eddie felt a flash of jealousy so intense it made him dizzy. That she could just say that. Richie just smiled at her like a dumbass - definitely not in love with her, Eddie knew that now, but also obviously loving her back. The two of them were probably best friends, they’d always gotten along in that strange way that Eddie never understood. And Eddie never had a best friend besides Richie, so it’d make sense for him to be wrong, and for Richie to have never been his, after all.

Richie came over to their little group then, squinting at them through his water-spotted glasses. “Hey,” he said, nerves in his voice.

“Look who it is!” Stan splashed him enthusiastically, and threw his arms around him for a hug. Patty followed suit, a little more reserved. Richie still smiled at her, though, and Eddie’s head spun as he tried to figure out if he should try and hug Richie too. He heard his mom telling him about how awful it’d be to die of AIDS, slowly and miserably, and Eddie knew she was wrong and stupid and mean but he also was sort of paralyzed because he’d already almost died today and he was even less brave than usual. So he didn’t hug him, he stayed where he was with his arms crossed.

Richie didn’t push it. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, looking at Stan and Patty and not at Eddie even though he was standing right next to him. “Big old homo, so. Prepare the pitchforks.”

“Please,” Stan said. “We’ve marched in Atlanta Pride for the past ten years. I was wondering who the other queer in the group was. Y’know, statistically, we were likely to have more than one.”

“Really?” Richie said, but he only sounded mildly curious, like it wasn’t the biggest fucking deal that apparently Stan was fucking gay too? Or bisexual or whatever. Umbrella-term gay. Eddie felt like he was going a little insane. How many of his friends were keeping things like this from him? Did they just have other people they wanted to tell instead?

Eddie considered telling Myra about any of this and almost laughed.

“Yeah,” Patty said, “absolutely. Plus, we tend to find each other.” She rubbed Richie’s arm, and Richie let out a breath Eddie hadn’t seen him holding. “So you guys weren’t kidding about the demon clown, huh.”

“Nope,” Stan said. “Wish we were.”

Then Richie looked at Eddie, finally, like he’d been avoiding it. “Sorry,” he said. “I know I was kind of…”

“You almost gave me a heart attack,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” Richie said. “And I’m sorry, I was sort of… going through a lot. To put it lightly.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said. That was all he got to say before Ben and Bill and Mike all swarmed Richie to hug him in a pile of warm, muscled dudes. And Eddie was sort of hung up on thinking about that for a second, like was being smothered in a pile of dudes what Richie was into? That’d be fine. Maybe he liked Ben, or something. He’d made such a big deal about how hot Ben was, that could’ve been a hint. Eddie didn’t know he was supposed to be looking for hints. Weirdly, it made him think about Myra. But Eddie still wasn’t ready to think about her yet so he looked at Richie and tried to smile because at least they were all still alive.

They all sort of spread out, on the walk back to the town house, moving at all their different paces. Stan and Patty walked slowest, hand in hand. Bill led the way - he was excited to call Audra and tell her this was over, and said something about an idea for a new book. Eddie was sort of incapable of walking slow, so that’s probably why Richie was walking with him. Richie had long legs, so. That was it. The sun baked down on Eddie as his clothes chilled and that felt sort of nice, and it smelled like afternoons once school let out, when they’d all go do something dumb like throw rocks into the river or some shit. Eddie was almost remembering so many afternoons spent with Richie, just Richie, if only he’d let himself really think about them. But he couldn’t, because then he’d realize Richie really always had been his best friend and he’d never even considered the fact that the inverse might not’ve been true.

“So,” Richie said after a little bit, and waited. Eddie didn’t know why the fuck he’d wait, when filling silence had always been Richie’s job. Finally Richie kept talking. “I think now’s as good a time as ever to tell you I have never been afraid of clowns.”

It felt like a joke. Eddie was tempted to find it funny, except it seemed like it was maybe at his expense. “No shit,” he said, and couldn’t think of a good way to say he’d never believed it that didn’t sound defensive.

Richie waited again, for Eddie to say more. It kind of hurt in a weird way. Feeling like things had changed so much that Richie couldn’t just spew garbage out of his mouth like normal, that he had to second-guess every single thing, that fucking hurt. “That’s what I saw at the arcade,” Richie finally said, quiet and small. “There was a kid there who’d… we’d… I dunno. I guess I had a crush on him.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, some kid Connor. He was here for like, a few weeks one summer, or something.”

Eddie nodded, pretending that made sense, that this didn’t feel like the biggest betrayal in the world. Richie had been having crushes and playing arcade games with boys and he had never asked Eddie to come. “Got it,” Eddie said, and he knew he sounded mad but he didn’t know how to help it.

“So,” Richie said brightly after another unbearably awkward pause. “Tell me about your wife.”

Not to be dramatic but it felt like Eddie had been fucking stabbed. He froze in his tracks on accident, and Richie stopped too so Eddie started walking again, faster. “Stop talking about my _fucking wife_ ,” he snapped, and then remembered he’d resolved to not flip his shit when Richie brought her up next time.

“I’m just trying to be interested in your life, dude,” Richie said as he caught up again, the edge of annoyance growing in his voice. “But I guess I’ll go fuck myself instead. Is it the gay thing? Are you freaked out by that, because that’s… fine.”

“What the fuck are you-”

“It’s fine,” Richie talked over him, “if you aren’t ready to, like. Be cool with it. Because I know that lying about it wasn’t, like…”

“Aren’t ready to be cool with it?” Eddie repeated in disbelief, and looked over at him. “What are you talking about? Do you think I’m like, _mad_ at you for being gay?”

Richie was staring resolutely at the ground as they walked. “I think, yeah, I think you’re mad at me and. Well, I think you were already kind of pissed because of what I said about your mom, and now you won’t even look at me, so yeah. I think you’re mad at me for a bunch of reasons, and it seems like being gay’s part of them.”

That wasn’t even in the fucking universe of what Eddie was thinking. It took a second for him to figure out how to say the truth, and in that second he had to appreciate Richie so much more, for thinking Eddie could be a fucking homophobe and still trying to talk to him anyways. For telling him it was okay if Eddie was freaked out by it. Richie put up such a good front, pretending to be the biggest asshole in the world so nobody would know he was actually the opposite - such a good front that Eddie was always a little surprised, despite himself, when he was reminded of it, and felt like a worse friend because of it. So he had all that in mind, as he tried to figure out what to say.

“It’s not,” he started with, because that seemed the most important. “I don’t… I don’t care who you fuck. Or whatever you’re thinking I care about.”

“Oh, like it’s my problem?”

“It kind of does seem like your problem, dude, given that you could barely get it out to save our fucking lives. What, were you just not gonna tell anyone ever?”

Richie huffed out a very unamused breath. “Kind of,” he said. “Yeah. I didn’t want to ruin this.”

“Well, that’s… fine, because you couldn’t anyways,” Eddie said. “I literally helped you hide a body earlier today, like. That’s it. Nothing’s gonna be bigger than that.”

“Besides your mom,” Richie said after a second, very softly.

There was a brief pause while Eddie processed his fury. Then, “Oh. My. _Fucking God, Rich!_ ” he shouted so loudly Bill turned around to look at them. “I can’t believe you would make a joke about-”

“Look,” Richie began, a smile growing on his face.

“-my fucking mom again, when that was just-”

“Eddie.”

“-what we were fucking arguing about! What?” Eddie asked at the end, still fired up.

“While we’re talking about dealbreakers,” Richie said, and Eddie realized that’s what they’d been doing. “I gotta be honest. I really do fucking _hate_ your mom. That might be, like. Rude to say, because she’s dead and everything. And if you are mad about that, I get it. But. She’s probably the one person in the world I actually fucking despise. Just, y’know. To be clear.”

Eddie made a face, the kind of face that knew what he was going to say even though it would kind of blow up his life. The same kind of face he made before he told Patty what he was thinking down there in the quarry. It hurt this cheek. He couldn’t keep any more secrets, though, not after he shouted out his worst fear and Richie made sure to tell him it’d never come true. “Well,” Eddie said, and gave himself one last chance to back out of saying this. It was no use. “Yeah. I know. That’s why… that’s why I don’t want to talk about Myra with you,” he said in a rush. “Okay? It’s not you.” At some point he’d stopped walking, and Richie had stopped too, right in front of him, looking down at him. Fuck, Eddie had forgotten what it felt like when Richie shut the fuck up and saw. It felt like he had a gaping hole in his chest, and his heart was beating in the sunlight, exposed.

“Are you serious?” Richie asked.

“Please don’t joke about this,” Eddie said. His voice broke halfway through. “I don’t want to-”

“I know you don’t want to, and I’m actually like, an adult now so I know how to respect those clearly articulated boundaries, alright? I swear.”

Richie was still very obviously looking at him, and Eddie was still avoiding eye contact. He saw Richie take a hand out of his pocket and sort of reach out but stop halfway, and Eddie wasn’t actively thinking, he just talked. “You can touch me, it’s not like being gay is contagious.”

“I _know_ ,” Richie said pointedly, but he didn’t complete the gesture, his hand just hung at his side and Eddie kind of ached. “I’m aware. Excuse the shit out of me for trying to be sensitive. You’re the one who couldn’t shut up about how your mom made a fucking sixty-slide lecture about the dangers of AIDS.”

“Not anymore,” Eddie said. “Now my wife does that for me.”

It was a fucking delight to watch that sink in, to see the grin spread across Richie’s face. “Fuck you, man,” he said with something Eddie might call tenderness.

“Hey,” Bev said from behind them. Apparently she and Ben had caught up. “Everything okay?”

Richie looked at Eddie, clearly waiting for him to answer. And Eddie suddenly thought about how easy it was for Bev to say she loved him, and he got kind of light-headed again but he was thinking that was what some people would call jealous. So, fuck it. Eddie turned back towards her and put his hand on Richie’s shoulder, and Jesus fuck, felt Richie flinch a little, just in his muscles. Okay, so Eddie needed to make sure he never gave Richie a reason to flinch from him again, but in the short term he just answered. “Yeah,” he said. “But if Richie makes another mom joke we’ve agreed I’m gonna drown him in the bathtub. Just, fair warning in case you hear screaming.”

“Oh, good,” Bev said easily. “As long as it’s consensual.”

“Absolutely,” Richie agreed, deadpan. “It’s my kink, so.”

Ben looked away politely, and Bev grinned at Eddie. “Didn’t you miss him?” she said.

“I’m as shocked as you are,” Eddie said, and discovered it was that easy to make Richie too totally overwhelmed to do more than smile. That seemed like something he could use in the future. But for now he just let Bev and Ben pass them, and then took a step back from Richie again. They used to always be on top of each other as kids, Eddie let himself think about that now. Sitting on each other in the hammock, holding each other when It was near, always grabbing or tapping or poking to get each other’s attention and not always to get on each others’ nerves. Sometimes just because they were extensions of each other, two halves of a brain that needed to connect. When did that stop, Eddie wondered. Would it have ended even if they stayed near each other? Or did people get older and get weird about it, everything ruined by fucking puberty.

“Eds,” Richie said once Bev was close to out of earshot.

“What?” Eddie almost forgot what they’d been saying before Bev, and then Richie’s face reminded him. Right, Myra. It was kind of fucking disturbing he already knew Richie’s Myra face. Though, he guessed it did kind of look a lot like how Richie had looked about Eddie’s mom, too, on the rare occasions he got serious back then.

“Look, I’m not anyone who should be telling you how live your life, but. If she’s anything like your mom,” Richie began, so tentative and like, respectful that Eddie was caught off-guard.

Eddie nodded. “I know,” he said. “I think she’s kind of… a lot like her. And don’t tell me I’m stupid, I know I’m fucking stupid but I didn’t remember about the placebos, okay?”

“You’re talking to the guy who’s been delivering straight dude comedy written by hacks to avoid coming out,” Richie said with a tense self-deprecating smile. “I think I know about stupid.” He looked so much like the person Eddie knew then, awkwardly unsure of himself, both too tall and perpetually hunching. God and he still adjusted his glasses in the exact same way, too, pushing them up his nose in a quick little gesture Eddie knew by heart.

“What,” Eddie said when the pause hurt his heart too badly. “Where’s the poop joke, c’mon. You’ve never met a moment you couldn’t ruin, just get it fucking over with.”

Richie laughed a little. Seemed like he was going to cry, maybe, too. “I’m trying not to do that,” he said. “Or to do it less, I guess. With…” He sighed. “With people who are important to me,” he finished miserably.

Eddie just _had_ to grin at how much Richie hated this. “Did it hurt? To say that?”

“Honestly? Yeah. Don’t tell anybody.”

It felt so good, to hear that. It sounded reading under the sheets by flashlight, and peering into the river because one of them saw a frog, and picking each other up after losing fights, and - fuck - Richie climbing through his window some nights after dark, just to keep him company. Eddie remembered now, feeling like he didn’t know why he’d wake up if he didn’t have Richie. All these feelings that had started to come back to him yesterday, that he’d stuffed back down because he wasn’t ready to deal with that. He still wasn’t, not quite. One thing at at time.

“Come on,” Eddie said. “If I don’t get to shower in the next like, five minutes, I’ll fucking lose it.”

“I don’t know, I feel pretty clean,” Richie said innocently. “I was thinking I might wait until tomorrow.”

Eddie knew the line here, he knew he was supposed to freak out about it - and honestly, he definitely still was going to because even that as a joke was fucking gross - but he couldn’t slip right into that. He was hung up on how Richie knew him so well, he knew which buttons to push just for fun and when to fucking stop. For the first time, Eddie let himself realize that not only did Myra not know, she didn’t care to know. What he wanted rarely mattered. And then, on top of that previous realization, Eddie let himself think that might not be right. Maybe he could ask for more than a list of things he had to do to earn being with her.

“Ey.” Richie was doing a bit of a Voice. He knocked the back of his hand against Eddie’s arm. “Did that send you into a fucking dissociative state or what?”

“No, dipshit, I’m just thinking for a second,” Eddie snapped automatically. “You should try it.”

Richie grinned. “Pass,” he said, just like he did in the sewer.

And okay. Eddie had to sort of lay into him about that, Richie couldn’t just joke about how he’d almost died and killed the rest of them too like it was fucking nothing. After that, Eddie got into the whole cleanliness thing too, telling Richie exactly what was in that quarry water and how likely it was they’d get dysentery - which was a lot less likely than Eddie thought at age thirteen, but still non-zero. He talked all that bullshit and Richie just kept listening, and nodding in a way that was somehow taking him seriously, and Eddie thought that he’d been stupid before, really stupid, to wonder if Richie didn’t care about him. It was so clear, now that Eddie actually opened his fucking eyes and looked.

He knew more realizations were coming. For the moment, though, this was enough. To walk back from killing It next to his best friend and lecture him and catch Richie’s answering smile out of the corner of his eye, and to know that they’d both said the thing they were most afraid of and decided the other person was an idiot for ever thinking that could tear them apart. That was enough for the afternoon.

Bev and Ben didn’t talk about much on the walk back from the quarry. They passed Eddie and Richie, clearly in the middle of a soul-baring argument. They’d never been great at picking times for these sorts of things. Bev could remember a dozen different times as children, when an afternoon was blown up by Eddie and Richie blowing up at each other. They always made up in a flash, though. Sometimes just a smile from one would get the other to laugh, and that would be it. That wasn’t the kind of fight Bev was used to. She didn’t understand those rhythms. All she knew was what she still knew today; those two loved each other in a way that Bev never expected to last. But then, that’s how Ben made her feel earlier, when he told her he’d written that poem she’d gone back for. She loved him, so how could it last?

When she went with him, back to the school, Bev had remembered she knew very little about what Ben had actually gone through. That was all they talked about on the walk, Ben’s trauma. He explained, haltingly, how he’d felt for most of his life. How unlovable he felt. Bev listened, holding his hand, and thought that of anybody, he could understand her. She could tell him. But once he finished talking, she found she wasn’t ready just yet.

“I think… I need more time,” she said after a moment. “Before I can get into…”

“Oh sure,” Ben said. “Totally.”

“I’m not sure how to… talk about it. I’ve never tried.”

He nodded, swung their hands a little bit as they walked. “Do you want to tell me one thing? Maybe?” he suggested.

And Bev loved him almost as much as she trusted him, so she did. He must be feeling vulnerable. She owed him a little bit of that back. “My husband’s very… jealous,” she said. “He goes crazy when I’m around another man.”

“Not women, though?” Ben said solemnly, the way he always delivered jokes.

“Interestingly, no,” Bev answered. “Funny, I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I should’ve.”

Ben smiled at that, apparently not bothered at the idea that Bev could be interested in women. “So he’s jealous and a bigot,” he said easily.

“Yes,” Bev said. “So I want to take things slow. While I figure out the divorce, and.” Her voice shrank at that, and she had to stop talking. This divorce would not be easy.

“Hey,” Ben said. “Not a big deal. Remembering you is already a lot, okay? We’re both adults. You have a whole life, and I’ve got mine. We need to figure some stuff out.”

Bev was grateful to be able to nod. “Exactly.”

“And I think that doesn’t have to happen tonight.”

She loved him so much it scared her. “Thank you,” she said. “Yes. That’s exactly how I feel. I just… I’m kind of rusty. Saying what I… feel.”

Ben huffed out a bit of a laugh. They were at the town house now; he let go of her hand to hold the door open for her. “I understand. It sounds like you haven’t gotten a lot of practice.”

No, she had too much practice with the opposite. Passing too close to Ben gave her a bit of a chill, her body remembering other men. And the thing was, Ben seemed to know. He didn’t reach for her again, he waited. When she reached out for him, he took her hand with a smile. He just let her make the moves first. He was patient, and kind, and Bev needed to go to therapy or something so she could stop feeling like there was another shoe that would drop once they went somewhere alone.

They separated to shower. Bev went quick, scrubbing the blood from under her fingernails and out of her hair, scratching at her scalp until her head felt raw. Finally, when she only smelled cucumber and lemons and no hint of raw metallic blood, she turned the water off.

She was getting dressed when there was a knock on her door, one she couldn’t place as belonging to anyone in particular. “One second!” she said loudly, and finished pulling up her joggers. She grabbed the first top she saw, a camisole, and pulled it on in one movement before getting the door.

It was Patty, looking very comfortable. Her hair was in a wet bun on top of her head, she was in sweatpants and big thick socks and a green T-shirt that declared her to be a Nags Head Master Baiter. She smiled when she saw Bev. “I swear that was the best shower I ever took,” she said.

“Seriously,” Bev agreed.

“Please tell me you have some sort of bartending experience,” Patty said, leaning on the doorframe. “Because I need a fun drink idea and if you don’t have one, my last resort is Ben and I think he’s the expensive whiskey, single ice cube type of guy.”

“I have a little,” Bev said, and cracked a smile. “Couple years at an extremely pretentious place in Manhattan.”

“Oh, so you’re perfect.”

Bev blushed, for some reason. “If you say so.”

She looked up to find Patty looking at her, at her arms, and Bev looked down to discover she’d forgotten about the bruises through all of this. Bev’s mouth went dry, for a moment, waiting for the conversation. Patty just met her eyes and kept smiling. “The bar downstairs is fully stocked and Mike’s bringing takeout menus when he comes back,” she said. “What’s something we could make a pitcher of, for the group?”

“Uh.” Bev looked around for the oversized sweater she knew she brought, found it and pulled it on. “Let’s go see,” she said then, and Patty’s smile grew.

They headed down the staircase together. The hallway was quiet, sounds muffled. Everyone else must still be showering, Bev thought, and then they got down to the ground floor and saw Eddie and Richie sitting at the bar, shoulder to shoulder, talking in unusually subdued tones.

“Hey boys,” Patty said cheerfully.

Eddie looked over his shoulder as they approached. “Hey girls,” he said, sounding much more like himself than he had in the past day.

As they rounded the bar, Bev saw how close the two of them were, the space between them feeling almost symmetrical in a weird way. Matching. They seemed to be falling back into their old way of being, codependent and happy about it, and Bev was glad. She so clearly remembered the two of them sharing single chairs at movie nights, sharing the hammock in the clubhouse, or spending detention with Richie sitting at a desk and Eddie perched on the desktop. They’d always been the two closest in the group, the pair that was happiest together. So the stilted awkwardness of earlier had been unbearable to watch.

“Richie, you know about alcohol,” Patty said, surveying the bottles. “What’s a good mixed drink?”

“She looks at me and sees the face of binge drinking,” Richie said conspiratorially to Eddie. “And I can’t say she’s wrong.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and Patty answered. “No,” she said. “I look at you and see a comedian.” She paused, and then she and Richie simultaneously said, “Same difference.”

“Wow,” Bev said, crossing her arms with satisfaction. “Incredible. The two of you should take your act on the road.” At that suggestion, Eddie frowned for a second. It looked involuntary.

“My calendar’s full for the rest of the year,” Patty said.

“Letting me down gently,” Richie informed them. “Very kind of you.” He propped his chin up on his hands and watched them intently, which is why, Bev thought, he didn’t seem aware that Eddie was looking at him about half the time. “Gin and tonic,” Richie suggested then.

“Myra likes gin,” Eddie said quietly. The first mention of his wife Bev had heard. It sounded like gin was off the table.

Richie threw another idea out. “Appletini.”

“No,” Bev said.

“A madras,” Patty said. “Would the macho men drink something pink?”

“Do we want to have that argument?” Bev sighed.

“I think they’re saying we’re not macho,” Richie told Eddie.

“There’s no orange juice,” Eddie said, which was both more relevant and helpful.

“Moscow mule,” Bev said, holding up a six pack of ginger beer she’d spotted under the bar.

Patty grinned at her - at all of them, spreading the warmth around - and declared her a genius, so that was the first pitcher. Bev poured for the four of them, and then a fifth when Ben came down the steps. He was still in jeans, but a new clean pair, and a henley that made Bev want to hug him.

“What’s your drink of choice?” Patty asked Ben as he came up to the bar.

“Uh,” Ben stalled, glanced at Bev. He patted Richie’s shoulder and leaned on the bar next to him. “I dunno. A nice scotch or something.”

“I knew it,” Patty said, and took Richie’s drink with her to meet Stan at the foot of the steps.

Richie blinked. “I think I’m in love,” he said.

Eddie visibly clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything, just had a sip of his drink and set it down with restraint.

Ben was looking at Bev. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Did the shower help?”

“Yes,” Bev said definitively. “And food will help more.”

“Mike should be back soon,” Eddie said. Richie pulled Eddie’s drink over to him and took a sip from it. The insane thing was that Eddie didn’t complain at all. Not one peep about germs. He let Richie have it, and then took the cup back. “By the time he gets here we’ll all be wasted,” Eddie added darkly, and had another sip of his own.

That ended up being true. It was kind of a spectacular night. Mike came back with a whole host of takeout menus and they ordered half a dozen pizzas and cheesy garlic bread and cinnamon sticks. They made probably five pitchers over the course of a few hours and sat around and talked just for the joy of hearing each other’s answers.

Bev made an effort to register some details, things to hold onto later when this night felt more distant. She held onto Stan’s delight when everyone realized his shirt went with Patty’s, purchased at the same truck stop. _Try These Nuts_ , the back of his shirt proclaimed, and Richie warned them all he had five solid minutes of testicle jokes ready to go. He only got through two before Eddie stopped him with a look.

That was another thing she wanted to hang onto, the way Richie and Eddie were tonight. Richie was sitting on one corner of the sofa with his legs crossed towards Eddie, his arm out along the back of the couch, and Eddie was sitting with perfect posture, turned towards Richie and close enough that his shoulder was pressing into Richie’s arm. They talked to everybody, but in another way they were only talking with each other and Bev cherished it in her heart.

Bill was sitting next to Eddie, and Richie would reach over for him and tap his shoulder to get his attention. For once, Bill didn’t look like he was holding back. He was just having fun, laughing with Ben about something from the robotics club however long ago, and Bev loved that for him. He deserved that.

She and Ben were across from Bill, Bev in an armchair and Ben sitting on the floor with his back against her chair. She kept a hand in his hair most of the night, or on his shoulder. He was serving as a wall for her, a solid presence that let her feel safe, and she didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose but it was so perfect that she held onto it either way.

Mike was in the matching armchair, leaning forward when he got excited or sitting back when he had a little more to drink. He ate probably an entire pizza on his own, and towards of the night he mostly smiled and watched them. Bev thought about his bravery, choosing to stay here and be forgotten, and she made a point to memorize the way his eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

Unexpectedly, Stan and Patty were sort of wild cards. They sat on the floor or the arms of the chairs or the arm of the couch. Patty leaned over the back of the couch to say something to Richie. Stan sat on the coffee table for the longest time, talking with Mike about the archives Mike had assembled. Patty leaned on Bev’s chair, her laughter filling the air like a physical presence. It was a night that Bev would remember forever, she could already tell, no matter how many other times they all got together because this night had something different. The thrill of winning, maybe. The rush of reunion making all the colors brighter, all the jokes funnier. None of the stiffness of last night, but all of the delight.

The night got fuzzy. Bev drifted off a bit. It didn’t escape her, how easy it was to fall asleep on accident here when she hadn’t slept well in years at home. Now she knew, it wasn’t the work or the stress or the mattress. It was Tom. And before him, it had been her father. But with everyone around her and Ben right in front of her, Bev slept fine.

She woke up an indeterminate amount of time later. Ben was asleep in place, one of her legs over his shoulder and one of his hands wrapped loosely around her ankle. It felt safe.

People had gone upstairs. The only others left down here were Richie, who was asleep leaning back against the couch, and Eddie, who was on his phone. As Bev watched, Eddie made a face at it, and raked a hand through his hair.

Bev made a bit of a sound, and pretended to wake up for the first time, and Eddie glanced up at her then. “Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” Bev said. She had a blanket in her lap now, she was warm from hugging it, so it took a second to realize her sweater had fallen off one shoulder and some of her bruises were showing. Specifically, it took Eddie looking at them and then back up at her, eyes wide. And then it took conscious effort for Bev not to adjust it so they were hidden again. She didn’t need to keep Tom’s secrets. “You caught me,” she said, forcing herself to sound something like normal.

“Sorry,” Eddie said.

“It’s fine. I’m… getting fine with it.”

He nodded, mouth screwed up and something clearly on his mind. “Your husband did that?” he asked, like he just had to check.

“Yes,” Bev said after a second. It had been easier to scream it at a clown than to just say it to an old friend. But she said it, that was the thing.

Eddie nodded some more, and looked back down at his phone. He had to work himself up to say this next part, and Bev found herself waking up, sobering up more. “What about,” he said, and stopped. “How do you know if it’s bad enough to leave?” he finally said so fast she needed a second to process it, typical Eddie style. “Because… I mean we don’t hit each other, but Richie said some shit, and. Stan and Patty are, like. And I’m just… maybe I’m just bad at being happy, y’know? I thought that for a while, that I just… don’t know how to feel things the right way. But with you guys, there’s…” He groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, I don’t know how to say this shit.”

Bev sat up a little more, trying not to disturb Ben. “It’s hard to talk about,” she said, trying to remain neutral.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Really fucking hard, when Bill’s fucking beaming every time he talks about Audra, and Patty’s Stan’s perfect fucking other half. It’s like, why am I having a fucking panic attack at the thought of calling her?”

“Myra,” Bev said, just to check.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I think I’m gonna puke. I should puke on Richie, he’s so gross he’d probably think it’s funny. Right?”

That was how Bev knew things were bad. Eddie would never joke about puking on anyone, even an Eddie who remembered there was nothing wrong with him. So Bev got up then, climbing gently over Ben, who let her go easily. Bill was long gone, so there was space next to Eddie for Bev to sit facing him, folding her knees up against her chest. She saw, close up, that Eddie was trembling. “Don’t puke,” Bev said. “Unless you really have to. Deep breaths.”

“Right,” Eddie said, miserable. He looked up at the ceiling and took a performatively deep breath, and Bev snuck a glance at his phone in his lap as he did. He had a text thread open, paragraph-length texts from Myra all right after each other. It made Bev a little nervous just to see it, honestly.

“Okay,” Bev said. “What would you consider definitely bad enough to leave?”

Eddie shook his head. “I don’t know. Nothing. I don’t know, I’ve always been more worried about her leaving me, I guess. I don’t… I don’t know why I’d leave.” He shrugged, angrily helpless.

Bev thought about him yelling at Pennywise. “And you think there’s something wrong with you,” she said. “So it’s inevitable that she would.”

He shrugged again. That was a yes.

“Have you talked about this with her?”

“What, so she can give me an itemized list of why I’m right? Like all the specific ways I’m not good enough for her? We’ve done that. I’ve tried to… it’s felt like something’s been missing for a while,” Eddie said, and looked right at Bev for a second. As always, he wore his feelings on his face intensely. “And I tried to talk about it but she just says I’m just not happy unless I’m unhappy. That I won’t put in the work to- like with the health stuff too. She thinks I fuck up on purpose or something. Or she says that. So she has a reason to hold over my…”

“That’s bullshit,” Bev said, though she didn’t totally understand what was being said.

“I know,” Eddie said, abruptly quiet and serious. “Because I’m happy right now. So. That’s the whole thing.”

Bev nodded, stalling as she thought about this. There was a pit in the bottom of her stomach at the way Eddie was talking and acting, because it felt familiar. “Most people,” she finally said, carefully diplomatic, “do not keep lists of the ways their partners disappoint them.” It felt a little basic; she hoped it didn’t sound condescending.

“Really?” Eddie said immediately, searching her face.

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath and let it out, and looked down at his phone again. “It’s gonna be a nightmare,” he said.

“You’re telling me.”

Eddie snorted, chewed on his lip. Then he glanced at Richie, and settled down a little more. “Yeah,” he said. “I have to, though. Because…”

“Because you deserve better,” Bev suggested.

He tilted his head, disagreeing. “Because she won’t let me have you guys, if we stay married,” he said, and then in reply to her face he added, “What, don’t tell me that’s not normal either.”

“No,” Bev said. “That’s what people usually call a red flag.”

“You think I’m some pathetic fucking… loser?” Eddie asked, with a self-deprecating edge to his voice.

“Do you think that about me?”

Eddie shook his head, gave her a shy sort of smile. “I think you’re the coolest girl in the world.”

Bev couldn’t remember him ever saying anything like that before. But then, Eddie had never been as open with his emotions as the others. This was something new. So she reciprocated the best way she could think of, and scooted closer to give him a hug. Eddie smiled a little, and lifted his arm to tuck her in against his side. Only when his arm was around her did Bev notice he was kind of built. His hand was on her shoulder. He kept adjusting it, like he didn’t know what he was doing. Shit, maybe he didn’t, if his wife was that bad.

“Do you,” he began, and stopped. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, given-”

“Shut up and hold me, Eddie,” Bev said with a smile she made sure he could hear.

Eddie listened to her, for once. He pulled her closer and moved his arm to rest more securely over her shoulders, and he shiftedtoo, so she could put her head down on his chest. Then very gently, Eddie tipped his head against hers, and they just sat there together. She could’ve almost fallen asleep again.

“Can I ask you a favor?” Eddie said after a bit.

“Anything.”

“Would you… I always overthink texting. Do you think you could, like. Help me figure out what to say?”

“Right now?”

“If she doesn’t hear from me for twelve hours she calls the police,” Eddie said. “So yeah.”

His last text to her - she had to scroll up quite a bit to find it - was at 1:32pm. _I’m fine._ And Richie’s voice like an invasive thought popped up in Bev’s head: _Boy, you can really feel the love_.

“Of course I’ll help you,” Bev said. “How often do you use emojis?”

Eddie snatched his phone back. “Beverly,” he began sternly.

“I’m kidding,” Bev said.

“Oh my God.” He handed it back over but even the way he did that seemed disapproving. “Don’t try to answer all her questions,” he said. “And I don’t want to explain anything, because I don’t know what I’m doing yet and she’ll just latch on to the details.”

“But don’t sound too rude and give her a reason to be mad,” Bev continued for him. “I know. I know how this works.”

“Jesus,” Eddie said. “Okay, maybe it is bad.”

“Maybe,” Bev echoed gently, reading the last eleven hours of texts. It wasn’t like Tom, not exactly. Myra was more manipulative and less threatening, but sort of openly cruel in a way that made Bev’s chest hurt. “Do you ever tell her she can’t talk to you like this?” Bev asked.

Eddie snorted.

“No, I’m serious. You should be able to-”

“You can’t control how people talk to you,” Eddie began.

“Beep beep,” Bev said pointedly, and felt him freeze.

It took several seconds for him to respond. “Oh,” he finally said. “Well.” And he didn’t say anything else for a long time.

They answered just before one in the morning, and Bev confiscated his phone for the rest of the night. “I’ll hang onto it,” she said. “She doesn’t scare me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “And it’s easier to be brave for each other than for ourselves.”

Bev had to admit, that was a really good point.

She woke Ben up to take him upstairs, kneeling down and patting his broad shoulder until he opened his eyes. “Come on,” she said. “Bedtime. Come on.”

Peripherally, she saw Eddie jostle Richie’s shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “Get up. This is how you get back problems.”

“I already have back problems,” Richie yawned.

“Even more of a reason to sleep in a normal human bed,” Eddie said, and Bev had kind of gotten used to how he was being with just her but this sounded a lot more like himself. Snapping at Richie with barely contained irritation. Love sounded a lot of different ways, Bev thought, watching Eddie watch Richie.

The four of them trooped up the stairs together. “I probably won’t brush my teeth,” Richie said, ostensibly to Bev though his grin when Eddie sighed betrayed the truth.

“Then I guess we won’t be making out tomorrow morning,” Bev answered, making Richie crack up. Part of her needed to check how Ben took it too. He was just smiling. But Bev wondered how long she’d be waiting for him to stop smiling, and how she’d ever know she’d waited long enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are In It Now, folks (pun intended) 
> 
> Eddie's sections always end up being longest, there's nothing i can do about it. the man likes to talk. he's also the one with the most Realizations to have

The evening had been magical, but the spell would break eventually. Patty knew that. Everyone would start to behave more like people she could imagine running into at the grocery store, or at a family reunion, or the beach. Adults didn’t just hang out in groups like this. They were irritable, and disagreeable, and didn’t do things like drop everything in their lives for a childhood friend they hadn’t spoken to in years. So Patty resolved to tread lightly today, and extend understanding to anyone who was different than before.

They’d woken up late the following morning. It took a second to sink in; for the first time that she knew him, Stanley Uris had slept past 9 am. She teased him about it while they packed, and then some more while they looked up flights. “We can’t be the first people out,” Stan was saying, and what he meant was that he wanted to stay as long as he could. Patty wanted to give him that, she did, but how long could they stay here? How long could they pretend they weren’t adults with things like mortgages, and jobs, and book club on Wednesday for crying out loud. But Stan was so happy, so well-rested, and so Patty just kept her mouth shut and let herself be held by him while he compared airfare and debated layovers in Chicago or Newark.

Eddie knocked and entered with Stan’s permission. “Hey,” he said, looking at them with a hesitance Patty had hoped they’d be past. “We need a plan,” he said, and then seemed to expect to be shut down.

“We’re looking at flights,” Stan said. “I have some great comparison apps, if you want to borrow the iPad.”

Eddie visibly relaxed, and came a few steps closer. “Oh thank God. I asked Richie if he had a return flight and he wouldn’t give me a straight answer about it.”

“Well he can’t give you a _straight_ answer,” Stan said before Peggy could.

Bafflingly, Eddie’s only response was a blank stare. “That’s exactly what he said,” he finally told them, and sat down on the foot of the bed and began to unlace his shoes. “It doesn’t feel like we should leave yet.” Eddie was carefully not looking at them. “Because I don’t know if I’m ready to… like. Are you guys thinking you’ll go today?”

Stan looked at Patty, who gave him sort of a shrug with her face. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think…” He hesitated, looked at Patty, and she saw in his face that Stan was about to be bold. “The idea of leaving you guys after just a day together is kind of… impossible.”

“Thank fuck you said it,” Eddie said all in a rush, and pulled one shoe off and moved on to the other. “Because I couldn’t figure out how to say I wanted to stay a few more days without sounding insanely desperate.”

“You can’t sound desperate with your best friends,” Stan said definitively.

“I dunno, dude.” Eddie pulled his sock feet up on the bed and got comfortably settled leaning back against one of the bedposts, one leg flat on the bed and the other knee held up to his chest. “You’d be surprised. I mean, I haven’t had a friend in my adult life that’s closer than like, probably, an acquaintance. Or maybe a colleague. So I don’t know, I haven’t, like.”

Stan looked at Patty. God, she loved him so much. “I’ve only had Patty,” he said.

“Must’ve been fucking nice,” Eddie said crossly. “Meanwhile I’m trying to figure out how to leave my wife over text.”

“What?” Patty demanded, sitting up straighter and leaning towards him.

She thought he’d balk at telling her, but Eddie just nodded, a little morose. “Bev helped me,” he said. “Since I figured she knows about…”

“Oh,” Stan said after a second.

“I mean it’s obviously not that bad,” Eddie immediately added, too quick. “She’s just really good at communicating. And she’s kind of holding onto my phone for me so I don’t have to worry about Myra trying to guilt me into coming back or asking about my pills or anything.”

“Do you take pills?” Patty asked. She hadn’t noticed.

“No,” Eddie said, and then corrected himself with a bit of a grimace. “I mean, I don’t need to. But I forgot, and.” This was apparently hard to get out. He looked to Stan. “Okay, so you know my mom.”

“I do,” Stan agreed. “And I told Patty.”

For a moment, relief and annoyance fought a battle on Eddie’s face. It looked like relief won. “Right. So without the benefit of remembering the biggest fucking thing that happened to me as a kid, I forgot that I was fine and since I was fucking conditioned from birth to let people play _fucking_ doctor on me-” Each expletive was more emphatic than the last. “-I’ve been taking a lot of shit I don’t need. Vitamins and shit, it’s mostly harmless. She’s not poisoning me or anything.”

“Are you sure?” Patty asked.

Eddie made brief, intense eye contact with her. “Yeah,” he said, no kidding in anything about him. And Patty’s heart hurt for him, because there was no doubting that he knew because he’d known the opposite, at some point. “She’s just…” he began, and stopped to think.

“It sounds less… medical,” Stan suggested after a moment. “Than it was with your mom.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed. “Way less. She doesn’t believe in doctors, actually. Though there’s overlap in the belief in the powers of fucking zinc. I don’t know why…” He sighed, because Patty and Stan couldn’t keep themselves from cracking up. A smile grew slowly on his face. “I don’t! I don’t know what’s so fucking appealing about zinc, but I swear to God, they both think it could cure cancer. Or, thought, in Mom’s case.”

“Boy,” Stan said. “Zinc, huh.”

“And fucking alkaline water,” Eddie said in the kind of tone most people reserved for their archenemies.

“The human body’s pH regulation system,” Stan started to say, in the most reasonable tone he could manage. But Patty wasn’t the only person that knew him here, so Eddie also heard the barely restrained rage and grinned.

“I know,” he said. “I know. But. It wasn’t worth the fight.”

That was bleak. Patty could see why Eddie wouldn’t want to return to that, and it was making increasing sense why he’d treated her with such skepticism. Wives, in his experience, had not been good.

“What was the final straw?” Stan asked.

“Was it the sex?” Patty added to lighten the mood. “Was she bad in bed?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Stan said after a sec.

“The sex is… sex! It’s gross, who cares.” Patty and Stan glanced at each other, and Eddie added loudly, “Uh, what the _fuck_ are you looking at each other for?”

“Uh,” Patty said to stall. She didn’t think it would be helpful to tell him the truth.

“Sex isn’t gross,” Stan said. “Well, it is, but that’s not the first thing that comes to mind. It’s supposed to be-”

Eddie pointed at Stan and then at Patty. “Swear to God if you start to describe your sex life I’m officially never talking to you again. That’s a promise. Okay? I get it, Myra and I have no chemistry, et cetera, whatever.”

“Have you ever had sex you enjoyed?” Patty asked.

“I’m not answering that question,” Eddie said, but his neck was pink. “How is that relevant to anything anyways?” he added, and as he asked, Richie came in without knocking, shutting the door behind himself.

“Hey losers,” Richie said, and joined them on the bed.

Patty saw Eddie look up at the sound of Richie’s voice, saw the tiny instant of a smile that Eddie fought off immediately, and didn’t know what it meant. Only that it meant something, pinged something in the back of her head. Richie flopped down on his stomach, on top of Eddie’s leg. “You just broke my leg, asshole,” Eddie said, and made no effort to move.

“Don’t lie, you loved having a cast,” Richie said into the bedspread. “You were a terror with that fucking thing.”

“I had limited range,” Eddie said. Patty caught him looking at Richie in that way again, openly staring at the back of his head for a second he couldn’t seem to help. “We’re planning,” Eddie added, giving Stan and Patty both deadly serious looks that were clear warnings against bringing up their previous subject. “If you want to go ahead and derail that now.”

Richie snorted. “That makes it sound like you don’t actually intend to _let_ me derail it,” he pointed out.

“I don’t,” Eddie said flatly.

Stan laughed, and then Richie snorted, his back shaking, and Eddie cracked a smile. And Patty wondered what she was missing. Was the joke that Eddie could even remotely control what Richie did, or that he’d want to?

“We’re talking about staying a few more days,” Stan said.

“Oh, so did Eddie tell you he’s gonna go all Gone Girl on his wife?” Richie said cheerfully.

“Hey, Patty, can you hand me that pillow?” Eddie asked serenely, an apparent non sequitor. Patty did as asked. “Great, I’ve just gotta do a quick _smothering_.”

Richie pulled himself up to his feet again before any suffocation could be attempted, straightening his back as he stood and cracking it as he did. “I know, you warned me,” Richie grumbled, and went to look out the window.

“I’m not going to Gone Girl her,” Eddie said, as if that had ever been in doubt. He was holding the pillow and inspecting the seams. “But. Yes. I did tell them about the… developments.”

“Seems kind of sudden,” Patty said, just to see what the reaction would be.

Stan looked at her, not sharply, just aware of what she was doing.

Eddie just shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “But Richie made some good points yesterday.”

“I won him over with my Borat impression,” Richie said absently, still gazing outside.

“He did not,” Eddie said definitively, glancing over his shoulder and then back at Stan and Patty. “The Borat impression almost ruined everything. And it’s bad enough that I think if anyone heard it, he wouldn’t be allowed on stage ever again.”

Stan nodded seriously. “That’d be a blessing,” he said.

Patty looked at Richie, expecting the laugh. But Richie didn’t laugh, though. His expression was unchanging. “Maybe it would be,” he said.

Eddie frowned, glanced at Stan. Stan also looked worried. “Hey, uh, Richie,” Stan said then. “When do you have to be back to your normal life? Just, while we’re planning.”

“I dunno,” Richie said. “I have to talk to my manager.”

“You haven’t talked to him? Weren’t you on tour?” Eddie said.

Richie nodded slowly. “Yep,” he said. “Probably the last tour of my career.” Eddie and Stan shared another moment of concerned eye-contact, which Richie looked back in time to catch Stan’s side of. “Oh, you assholes never heard of a joke before?”

“Not from you,” Eddie said.

That got something, a hint of a smile, but Richie still seemed off.

“Okay,” Stan said, doggedly pursuing the conversation he wanted to have. “So would you be interested in staying a little longer? Maybe we head to the Derry Days festival together or something. Have a normal sort of reunion.”

“I have more PTO I could take,” Eddie said when Richie didn’t answer. “Like forty weeks or something.”

Patty understood that as an opening, a chance for Richie to begin teasing him about never taking vacation, or something. She was never sure what he’d say exactly. But instead of anything funny, Richie just shrugged. “Sure. I’ll stay. I want funnel cake.”

No one commented on this, neither one of the boys. Stan looked at Eddie, and Eddie was somewhere else, thinking. Patty knew took Stan’s hand and squeezed it. “Or a corndog,” she suggested. But Richie didn’t even take the obvious opening for a dick joke.

Eddie made eye contact with her, a bit of a smile on his face, a _you tried_ kind of expression. “Rich,” he said, and Richie looked over. “Stop acting like you’re being deep and make plans with us.”

“Fuck you, dude, I’ve killed now, and I’ll kill again,” Richie said, but he came over. He at least pretended he cared what their plans were but mostly he did nothing and spaced out, so that meant Eddie planned more enthusiastically than ever. He made a list of the seventeen flights in the next three days he might want to take, and then the twenty-three Richie could choose from. Richie didn’t seem to particularly notice.

Once they had successfully explored every possible contingency they could, the four of them split up to talk to the others about this. Richie and Eddie went to talk to Bill and Mike, bickering over the specifics of cotton candy consumption. That left Ben and Bev, so Stan and Patty went out looking for them. “I think Ben said they were going to have a picnic by the river,” Stan said.

“Romantic,” Patty said. “We should make it a double date sometime.”

“That’d be nice,” Stan agreed, and swung their hands between them. The streets were actually kind of beautiful, without the omnipresent lurking fear of a killer clown. It could’ve been a nice place to grow up. She wished it had been, for them.

“I hope Richie’s okay,” Patty said after a long, comfortable silence. “He was being weird, right?”

Stan nodded. “Definitely. But he was always the one who never wanted to go home. He’d stay as late as any of us would let him.”

Patty nodded back. “I see,” she said.

“His parents were… not great. Back then.”

“I wonder why he doesn’t have anything he’d want to go back to now.”

“Maybe this was all he wanted to come back to,” Stan said.

That was probably right. Patty considered asking about Eddie, what Stan thought he meant to Richie, but it seemed like kind of a lot, actually. To ask him after a day of knowing his friends if two of them had always been like that, and if so, why he hadn’t noticed they were in love with each other. Maybe they weren’t, after all, maybe it was a very normal friendship she would be ruining by bringing it up. Moreover, it sort of seemed like maybe none of her business, in the same way she wouldn’t interrogate a four leaf clover for existing. Either way, Patty kept her mouth shut.

They found Bev and Ben on a picturesque riverbank, sitting on a checkered blanket - very Norman Rockwell. Patty thought that maybe she should stop waiting for these people to be any less than what they were. Not perfect, she didn’t think they were perfect by any means, but they were… the best way she could put it was saturated. Full color, when the rest of the world was varying stages of washed out. Intertwined with each other, trying and failing and just being with all of their heart. Like maybe when they forgot their childhood, they forgot that it was supposed to end.

Maybe other people didn’t act like this. But then, other people hadn’t defeated It in the sewers under a cursed, haunted house. What was this, she asked herself, if not another experience gift from Stan. So Patty gave herself over to it, like she had so many other times. They decided to stay through Monday, in the end, and regroup there.

Richie had just had like two of the best days of his life and was still having a hard time being happy, and that felt pretty fucking dumb. He listed the positives in attempt to get his own head out of his ass. Eddie was still his best friend. The other Losers, they now existed in a way he knew about and were just a phone call or text away. They were all alive. They’d bought a few extra days here, everybody sticking around to bask in the glow of middle school nostalgia. That was nice.

But the thing was, that was just a few days. After that, Richie was looking at an existence where he now had seven best friends but only Bill lived in LA. Eddie and Bev were in New York City, so he could probably visit them the most. But Mike wouldn’t be staying in Derry and said all kinds of shit about moving to Florida or whatever, and Ben had his house in the middle of Montana, and Stan and Patty were in fucking _Georgia_ of all places. It was really great, how everybody was alive, but he couldn’t see what the fucking point was of them being alive and apart, just texting every few days or whatever.

Plus, once they went back into the world, Richie had to go figure out what the fuck was left of his career. That felt like an insurmountable mountain of a problem with infinite steps up into the mist, and the first step was labeled “calling his manager back” - or more accurately, returning one of the dozen calls he’d gotten since bombing a show and fleeing the tour. Richie hadn’t looked at his phone that first day in Derry, or the second even, but now it was the third day and he registered that he’d just cancelled two shows by fucking not showing up to them. And that felt really shitty, even if most of his fans would turn on him anyways if they found out he was gay. They’d find out like sooner rather than later, too, because now that he’d said it he was having trouble remembering how he’d kept himself from saying it before. So he might not have a career left to worry about. Just a little house he was glad in retrospect that he bought outright, and a fucking legacy of being an asshole and punching down. Love that.

He’d have to update his resume. Where did demon-killing go on a resume? He thought that it was both experience and a special skill.

“Hey,” Eddie said. “Ready to go?”

Richie had spaced out while putting his shoes on, like an idiot. One foot was still propped up on the side board of his bed. “Yeah,” he said, and finished tying the laces he was holding.

“You’re a person who puts their shoes on the bed?” Eddie asked, with restraint and judgement written all over him.

The jokes were right there, he could feel them. But now that Eddie knew, would he get weird about jokes about beds or was that just overthinking? Beds were totally normal furniture that mostly weren’t about sex and still, Richie looked up at Eddie and felt so exposed that he couldn’t say anything even remotely funny. “Not usually,” he said, and stood up. “Where’s everybody else?”

“Downstairs, waiting for you,” Eddie said pointedly. So they went downstairs, and out to the festival as a group.

Maybe that was a bigger part of this than he wanted to believe, too, the weirdness of having finally told the truth and still feeling like a liar. The whole truth would’ve involved something else, a section devoted just to Eddie where he said shit that made him squirm just to think about confessing out loud. But tons of people were sort of in love and decided it was better to be friends. That’s all this was. A very calm, rational decision that their friendship was the best thing in his life and was gonna stay that way; let no one ever say that Richie Tozier didn’t know a good thing when he had it. He was preserving it for both of them.

“Asshole, that’s a building,” Eddie said, and Richie realized he was in fact about to walk directly into the corner of a brick wall. He would’ve, if it wasn’t for Eddie’s hand on his arm. And now Eddie was looking at him so closely. Honestly kind of looking right through him, so Richie pulled away.

“Sorry,” he said, “just thinking about-”

“Swear to God, dude, if you say something about someone’s mom I’m going to scream,” Eddie said crossly, and then said, “Well, I’ll do something. Imagine I said something that’s more intimidating. More of a threat.”

Richie snorted. “No, that was a threat,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve only gotten louder with age.”

“Okay. Next time, I’ll let you break your fucking face,” Eddie promised, and tugged Richie along after him down the street. The others were now pretty far ahead of them. Richie wondered how long he’d been lagging behind. He had to get better at multitasking.

The Derry Days fest was in view, that giant lumberjack statue looming over the ticket booths. It always felt like a big deal when they lived here, like, bigger than a medium-sized carnival probably should’ve. Richie always liked the spectacle. Everybody was loud and drunk and kind of nicer, and usually Bowers and his gang were too busy stealing beer and stuffed tigers or whatever to beat the shit out of any of them. It was the closest he had to any real nostalgia for his childhood outside of the Losers. So, bravely, Richie decided to have a good time.

He saw Bev and Mike making a break for the shooting booth, with Ben trailing happily. Bill went into the funhouse with Patty and Stan, the two of them loudly insisting on something and making him laugh. They were all having fun. And all Richie’s shitty broken brain could think was how rarely this would probably ever happen again.

“Seriously,” Eddie said as they walked through the big entrance arch. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, man. I guess I’m just a little shaken by the clown we-”

“Stop,” Eddie cut him off, and his voice sounded weird. Like, Richie had never heard him sound like that, weird. “Don’t bullshit me,” he added. Not mad, but definitely something.

“Oh, so it’s bullshit to talk about It, now,” Richie said, making sure to make the proper noun audible. “That’s not allowed?”

“Of course it’s allowed,” Eddie said, like Richie expected him to.

“Right, so what makes it so fucking unreasonable that I’m-”

Eddie stopped in his tracks, whacked Richie’s shoulder to make him turn towards him. Richie turned, of course, he faced Eddie down with his hands in his pockets and the very careful nonchalance that had gotten him through so many other attempts to get him to just be serious or whatever Eddie was going to say. Maybe this was what it’d be like, he thought, all of them getting increasingly annoyed with him and deciding they didn’t want him around after all.

“Cut the shit,” Eddie said. “This isn’t about It, that fucking clown didn’t freak you out this bad.” A passing mother glared at him, and Eddie smiled at her, contemptuously polite.

“You can’t tell me that, man,” Richie defended himself. “You’re not the one who _killed a guy_.” He said that last part in an emphatic whisper.

Eddie crossed his arms. “If you want to get into that, we can,” he said with a firm glare. “But if that was the problem, we already would’ve.”

“Yeah, nothing I love more than talking about my problems.”

“Right, you mostly love to talk about mine,” Eddie snapped. “And I listened to you, Rich.” There was nothing but total honesty in his face, and that was kind of the worst thing about it.

Fuck, this was depressing. Not Eddie, Eddie was being a good fucking friend. But it was depressing for Richie to realize that he _was,_ in fact, such a piece of shit that he could even fuck up this, the best relationship he ever had. Of course he was.

“Richie,” Eddie said emphatically, and fuck, Richie was spacing out again.

“What! You’re the one who said I should try thinking,” Richie said reflexively. “I’m fucking trying it.”

Eddie exhaled through his nose, straightened his shoulders, and set his jaw. “You’re being a dick,” he said. “And you can fucking deflect your way out of it if you want to, but I’m trying to tell you I’m worried about you. Dumb fucking me, I guess. Let’s get your funnel cake.” And he walked off.

Helplessly, Richie followed.

It felt kind of absurd to stand with Eddie in line after that. On top of the awkwardness of arguing, it wasn’t how he was used to this shit going. And that wasn’t to blame anybody he’d dated - Richie realized he was fucking impossible to pin down when he didn’t want to be, he was fully aware. It was on him, when people got frustrated and gave up, or tried - unsuccessfully - to guilt him into opening up, or bought into the jokes being his whole identity. He was the one that kept anybody from getting close enough to call bullshit on him like this.

It shouldn’t mean so much, for Eddie to still be here next to him. Eddie never gave up on anything, that was basically a universal fact. But also, it meant everything.

They both got funnel cakes, and Eddie got a lemonade. One of the giant ones that came in lemon-themed plastic cups with a bunch of slices of lemon and a shitload of ice. Eddie had loved those as a kid, Richie remembered him holding one in both hands and downing it. He remembered the aftermath too; the sticky hands that had attracted a wasp for a terrifying 90 seconds, and how hyper Eddie got from the unusual dose of sugar. They’d run up and down Richie’s street ten times to get Eddie calm enough so his mom wouldn’t notice. The smell of it, fake lemons and real lemons and powdered sugar, brought all that back and put a lump in Richie’s throat. The cup went with Eddie’s yellow polo, he thought, and immediately resolved to never voice that.

“Remember when I fucking overdosed on these,” Eddie said after his first sip.

Richie wanted to laugh at that so bad his throat hurt. He just nodded, and when Eddie offered him the cup he took it and had some too. “Tastes like aspartame,” he said, handing it back.

“Yeah,” Eddie snorted. They could both feel the conversation about fucking fake sweeteners being poison or whatever, Richie was ready to listen to every point and then mock every single one of them. But Eddie didn’t say any of that. He just kind of smiled, and had some more. “That way?” Eddie gestured, and Richie went without looking.

“You really don’t have to be worried,” Richie eventually said as they wandered.

“Sure,” Eddie said, so pleasantly it had to be sarcastic.

“I’m serious, dude. I’m fine, I just…”

Eddie pointed at him with the hand holding his lemonade still. “Right,” he said. “So fine you can’t even say what’s going on, huh? Sounds very _fine_.”

“Fuck off, dude.”

“Seriously, is this like… is there something you’re avoiding when you go back?” Eddie asked. “Like I’m sure it’s not your parents this time, because we’re adults, but-”

Richie cut him off, talking with his mouth full. “My parents are fine too, they’ve been fine since we left Derry.”

“Well, sure but they ignored you for like twenty years. That doesn’t just go away.”

“So what?”

“So stop being an asshole and trying to abandon us fucking preemptively, before we get the chance to ignore you too!”

Richie sort of froze, then. All essential brain function, ceased for probably thirty seconds. That seemed like a pretty normal, functional reaction for a person who had just been exposed so totally. Like, cut open with a chainsaw, internal organs pulled out and discussed in front of him kind of exposed. Basically, read for fucking filth.

To cope, Richie crammed the rest of his funnel cake in his mouth, and nodded as he chewed it, and came to terms with the fact that Eddie knew him better than he knew himself.

“Alright,” Richie finally said.

Eddie had stopped with him, looking around at everyone else to give Richie some privacy, maybe. He, too, had finished his funnel cake. “Look,” he said in response, and Richie obeyed. They looked at each other. Two adults, who at one point had been inseparable. “We obviously have to figure some shit out, about. Like, our lives and everything. And ourselves. Bev says we all need therapy, and she’s probably right.”

“She’s never wrong,” Richie agreed.

“Yeah. So. I’m not totally in touch with my, like. Emotional… state. Or maybe I’m too in touch and I don’t know how to just get it out, but.” Eddie, who had been talking at his lemonade in that half to himself way he sometimes did, looked Richie in the eyes again. “I don’t know what my life’s going to be like, now. Especially with divorce and everything. But I know you’re going to be in it as much as you want to be, okay?”

Somehow, this sent Richie deeper into the depths of misery. For some reason, he almost wanted to apologize for wanting too much in advance. “If I’d known you were, like. Out there,” he began. “Like, when I was starting out, with my career and everything, and choosing where to live-”

“I know,” Eddie said abruptly. “Me too. So it’s a good thing we were both really fucking successful and we can change that shit now.”

That was a good point. “Well,” Richie said. “I used to be successful, at least.”

“Stop,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious, I ran out on my tour and ghosted my-”

“You still haven’t fucking texted them back? Oh my god, give me your phone.”

Richie frowned. “Why would I give you my phone?”

“Because you’re a loser and I’m going to save your career.”

That did sound plausible. Richie handed it over, and Eddie gave him a phone in exchange. Not his; Eddie would never use a rose gold iPhone with no case on it. “Whose is this?” Richie asked.

“Bev’s,” Eddie said. “She took mine but then didn’t want me to be, like, uncontactable. So we traded.”

“So Bev has your phone,” Richie said.

“I think so. Though Bill was going to take a look at a text before we sent it, so it might be with him.”

“Oh, of course,” Richie said. He looked at the home screen, some sort of pinkish… fabric? Or liquid? A pink texture. No notifications. What a dream.

Eddie was busy looking at Richie’s phone. “Oh my God,” he said. “Why do you have three thousand unread emails? And so many missed calls. What if one of them is your doctor saying-”

“I haven’t been to the doctor in six years.”

“Jesus Christ, Rich-”

Bev’s phone was vibrating. “No, shut the fuck up, hold on.” Richie said, and held it up for Eddie to see the caller ID. _Tom_.

“Shit,” Eddie said. “I’ll call her.” He dialed, waited, and then made a face at whoever answered. “Hey Bill.” Shit. “Do you know where Bev is?”

Fuck. The phone rang again in Richie’s hand, Tom again. Richie held it up to show Eddie, who made another, worse face.

“Okay thanks. Yeah. No, I don’t know. Okay. Bye.” Eddie hung up and called Mike next. “Mike, where’s Bev?” he said. “Her husband’s calling, we don’t know what to do.”

Richie looked at the now two missed calls on her home screen and he had this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like, not quite as bad as It, but people didn’t need It to be pieces of shit, not by a long shot.

“Yeah, I see it,” Eddie said, looking over Richie’s shoulder. “We’re still by the entrance. Okay. Bye.” He hung up. “They’re going to meet us by the go-karts, over there,” he said, pointing. “Let’s go.”

“Okay.” They started walking together, towards the go-karts which were only like a hundred feet away. Wasn’t a big event. They stopped sort of awkwardly, in a clear space between that and the park bathrooms. Like everything in Derry, the bathroom building was all brick and white wood trim, totally inappropriately quaint. Richie remembered puking in there after having too many hotdogs - six - the first year they were allowed to come alone. “Do you think,” Richie began, and then Bev’s phone started ringing a third time, startling him.

“He’s not gonna stop,” Eddie said grimly. “You should put it on silent, like no vibration.”

“It’s on silent, how do I make it-”

“Give it to me.”

“Just tell me how to do it.” Richie opened up the options.

“It’s faster if I just do it,” Eddie insisted, so Richie gave in. That was really the thing he did best, after all.

Eddie pressed a button, and Bev’s phone started ringing.

“Oh my God, Eds!” Richie snapped.

“Sorry!” Eddie turned it off and finally got it to stop buzzing. “Shit,” he added. “I…” And then he trailed off, looking off to one side. “Uh, Richie,” he said.

Richie noticed Bev approaching, Ben and Mike lagging behind her, and waved at her. Then he followed Eddie’s gaze and found some dude like twenty feet away looking from them to Bev, his face absolutely fucking furious. “That’s _him_ ,” was all Eddie said, but Richie could swear they were psychic for a moment because he understood what Eddie meant. That was Bev’s husband, and he’d probably been tracking her phone, and he heard the phone going off and now, he found Bev. That passed between their minds in a flash, and then the telepathy ended when Eddie put his hand on Richie’s shoulder in a move Richie wasn’t sure how to interpret. Protective, maybe, sort of instinctual.

And then, Tom started walking towards Bev, advancing on her with this kind of anger that Richie recognized without knowing how he did. Primal. People got out of Tom’s way, and Bev was frozen. Richie saw her like when they were a kid, trapped in the Deadlights, unable to get away.

Last time Ben saved her. This time, a kiss wouldn’t cut it and Ben wasn’t a fighter. So Richie started walking too, heading straight for Bev as quickly as he could, lengthening his stride to almost a run. “Richie,” Eddie said behind him, and Richie could hear the layers in that too, warning and begging him not to do this but. This was _Bev_ , Richie would say if he had the time, and Eddie would eventually agree.

He got to Bev first but just barely, only enough time to slide in front of her. Ben and Mike still hadn’t quite caught what was happening. “Bev? What’s going on?” Richie heard Ben say. Bev put her hand on Richie’s back. He could feel her trembling, and now Tom was here, and he looked fucking pissed. In the scariest way, too, where he was trying to look calm. So Richie did what he did best, the one thing he was good at, and he opened his mouth.

“Hey, so I’m not a hundred percent sure why you’re here but I think you should probably know that I’ve killed a clown not once, but twice. So. Keep that in mind before you say anything you’ll regret,” Richie said, and once that had him sufficiently off-balance, he added, “I’m Richie Tozier.” And stuck his hand out.

“Tom Rogan,” Tom said after a second, and pointedly refused Richie’s hand. He was a couple inches shorter than Richie, and had a pretty significant bump on his head. “Why do you have my wife’s phone?”

Richie put his hand back in his pocket. “Yeah, a very reasonable question,” he said. “Long story. Involves the clown I was talking about, and a short man with an alleged cashew allergy. Do you know what Munchausen by Proxy is? I guess we should start there.”

Tom was done with him; he looked past Richie to Bev. “We need to talk,” he said.

Bev clenched her hand in Richie’s shirt. “You followed me here?” she demanded, her voice shaking a little. “And now you want me to what, drop everything to talk to you?”

“Oh, because you’ll only do that for your _friends_?” Tom said with absolutely shitty condescension. “Which one of these guys is Mike?” he added.

“That’d be me,” Mike said from what sounded like Bev’s side. Richie didn’t turn around. “Do we have a problem here?”

“No. Just trying to speak with my wife,” Tom said. Seemed incapable of speaking in a non-condescending way. And Richie knew assholes well - he was one, he played a bigger one on stage, and he worked with almost exclusively other assholes. He knew the types. Because of that, he felt very confident saying this guy was not going to leave them alone unless someone made him. That was out of Richie’s wheelhouse. He was happy to throw himself between Bev and danger, but he would probably just embarrass himself if he tried to throw a punch.

Where was Eddie? Richie looked past Tom and didn’t see any trace of a yellow polo, but he knew Eddie wouldn’t run. He had to be around here somewhere.

Oh shit. Tom said something to Bev that Richie missed, because Bev answered, “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Then we can have it out right here, in front of everybody,” Tom threatened. An obvious bluff, Richie thought, but Bev didn’t seem to know that.

“No,” Bev said. “We can talk, just. Give me a second.”

Tom moved like, two steps further away and waited, and it was clear in every single thing about him that he was just waiting to fuck Bev up. Like, that was clear. So Richie turned to her, not listening to the excuses for talking to him she was trying to make, and said, “You’re not going anywhere alone with that guy. I’m coming with you.”

Ben and Mike nodded immediately. Bev looked like she wanted to cry. “Richie, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, you’re not. I’m telling. I am putting myself right in the middle of your traumatic marriage, and I’m not taking any feedback. What’s he going to say?”

“He probably wants me to come back with him,” Bev said. Her face was paler than ever - Richie was honestly kind of worried she’d puke, which would set him off too so he really hoped she wouldn’t. “And he thinks I’m cheating on him.”

There wasn’t time to react about how fucking stupid that was. How, clearly, this guy didn’t know her at all. Richie just nodded. “Okay. No way in hell.”

“I shouldn’t have agreed to talk to him,” Bev said.

“We can leave,” Ben said. “You don’t have to.”

Bev gave him a tense kind of smile, but then she looked at Richie and again, weird telepathy. She had to do this, for herself. She couldn’t run. But she couldn’t do it alone. “C’mon,” Richie said. “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’m going to give you a hug,” Bev said. “After all of this.”

“You’d better,” Richie said, instead of saying he loved her. And he went with her, to talk to Tom.

Tom took them around the side of the bathroom to talk - less exposed but not totally private, so it was kind of a shock when Tom fucking punched him in the face. Maybe it shouldn’t have been that much of a shock. Richie did open the conversation with a gangbang joke. Not that they were all fucking Bev - obviously, gross - but it did seem like Tom was a little too obsessed with the concept. Apparently, pointing that out was enough to set the dude off. Tom punched Richie in the face and then slammed his head into the brick wall and Richie sort of lost track of what happened, after that.

It was fucking typical; Eddie left for two entire minutes to find Stan and Patty and Richie got himself a concussion, cracked cheekbone, and black eye. Of course he did. He had a fucking gift for getting himself into shit like this.

Not that it was only Richie’s fault. Eddie knew that. It was Tom’s fault, the piece of shit that had stalked Bev to Derry and then blew up over his own stupid insecurities. When they were all in the waiting room of the hospital while Richie got stitches, and Eddie was listening to Bev tell them all how it had gone down, how Tom didn’t just want but insisted on access to all her accounts and then would use them to check up on her, he had to admit that was a little more familiar than he wanted it to be. So he gave Bill permission, right then and there, to send Myra the text outlining the reasons he wanted a divorce.

That triggered a phone call from her, obviously, and Eddie went outside to pick it up. He endured the long tearful lecture, he heard her out, and then when she had run out of ways to try and make him feel like shit, he told her this wasn’t a whim, it wasn’t a joke, he wasn’t just upset about the car crash. This was real, and he was starting the paperwork Monday, he’d see her in arbitration. Maybe he should have felt a little worse, he thought, hearing her cry. But then he corrected himself - no, he didn’t feel bad. She cried when he talked about separating two years ago, and she cried when he said he didn’t want kids, and she cried when he said he didn’t believe she saw auras. It was a pattern. So he listened to her crying, and tried not to wonder if he was a sociopath incapable of empathy, and eventually said he had to go and hung up.

Richie had come to school sick all the time when they were kids, something that drove Eddie absolutely fucking crazy. It was like Richie had never heard of the Spanish Influenza. Contagious people had to stay home. The thing was, though, the thing that Richie would never fucking say but was totally true was, that he’d rather be in school and miserable than at home and alone. He hated being alone, Eddie remembered that crystal fucking clear now. And after the sort of fight they’d had at the festival about it, Eddie was resolved to be super fucking good about being there for him. He made sure he stayed right next to Richie. Like, _right_ next to him.

They were all downstairs again, talking plans, and Richie kept talking about how his head hurt and Patty suggested he lay down and Richie said there wasn’t any room. It was true, there wasn’t - most of them were sprawled on the floor on top of each other. Unhygienic. So Bill, being helpful, suggested Richie go upstairs and Eddie could see that was like, the worst thing Richie could think of so Eddie said, “No, there’s plenty of room on the couch, here.” And he put a pillow in his lap.

Richie looked at him for a second, like he was about to make a joke out of this and Eddie was prepared to melt into the floor and wish he was never alive. But Richie didn’t say anything like that. He nodded, and lay down and put his head down on the pillow, and then Eddie sort of ended up putting his hand on Richie’s shoulder, and then they were just doing that now. Cool.

Part of Eddie was kind of panicking about this, about being this fucking close to another human being. He was thinking about how Myra was always trying to hold him but it made his skin crawl, and it strangely made him think about his mom which was still in the box of _Not Fucking Going There_ where he left it for now. So he didn’t like Myra touching him, and until yesterday he thought that meant he just didn’t like being touched. That would make sense, with germs and everything. He’d thought about that last night too, with Bev. He didn’t mind hugging Bev, though, that was fine, none of his anxieties went off there. And obviously he didn’t mind Richie - that was kind of a ridiculous concept, actually, not wanting Richie near him. Richie didn’t count. So it was probably, he was realizing, just Myra he didn’t like being near him. Because he really, really liked this, Richie being right here, where Eddie could keep track of him and make sure he wasn’t getting into additional bullshit.

“Fuck it,” Richie said. “Let’s go move you out now.”

Right. Eddie tuned back in to the conversation. They were talking about Bev’s problem, of course. Tom was in jail for the night, for assaulting Richie and then getting into it with the cop who arrested him, and that gave them a window of opportunity. Honestly, listening to them talk about Bev and Tom’s fashion business had just made Eddie really fucking glad he hadn’t opened up that yoga studio with Myra like she wanted him to, and then it sort of gave him a panic attack about the mere concept of it, so he’d tuned out for his own good. But now he was back in.

“Now?” Bev repeated. “I don’t have a house, or.”

“I can get you a house,” Ben said. He was sitting right next to Bev, letting her hold onto his whole arm for safety. “I know four great realtors in New York state. What are you looking for?”

“I…” Bev shook her head a little bit.

“Maybe three bedrooms?” Ben suggested.

“A yard,” Patty said, and kissed Stan’s hair. He was sitting between her legs, leaning against her chest, and their hands were intertwined. “Good for the soul.”

“A big closet, obviously,” Mike said.

“Four,” Bev said. “Four bedrooms. So you can all stay there.”

Eddie didn’t think it’d be helpful to point out that there were eight of them, which meant six rooms if you doubled up the couples, so he nodded along with everyone else.

“But if I buy a house, he’ll see the purchase,” Bev said. “I don’t want him to know where I live.”

“I’ll buy it,” Ben said. “And give it to you.”

That was really fucking nice of him. But Bev just seemed kind of stressed by it, like she nodded yes but she was so nervous it sort of seemed like she didn’t totally want to say yes. What did Eddie know, though. Myra loved to remind him that he didn’t know anything about women, which was definitely true, so he knew should probably just keep his mouth shut and not get involved.

So they had a plan, then. While Tom was in jail, they were moving Bev out. Bill was covering everyone’s flight, Ben was hiring movers, Bev was making lists of everything she would be taking. It was busy, but Eddie wasn’t. Moving in a day with no contingency plans, that was the kind of shit that a few days ago, just the thought of it would give him hives. It should’ve been making him think about his own divorce, and there was plenty to freak out about that, too. But Eddie just sat there, with Richie’s head in his lap. He had seven other totally capable people handling things with him, and he had Richie’s head in his lap, and everything else was feeling really, really unimportant.

Eddie couldn’t help himself - he kept glancing down at him, like he had to make sure he was still there or something. Patty caught him, a couple of times. That was scary. But it also wasn’t, really, because Eddie had nothing to be guilty over. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was getting a divorce and this wasn’t even anything that could be construed as cheating, anyways, and nobody here would say anything. He didn’t have to explain to a fucking judge or something how Richie was and always would be the most important person in his life, it was just a fact and it was unremarkable. Tons of people had best friends.

With a lot of grunting, Richie turned onto his back to look up at Eddie, while Eddie tried not to be obviously tense. Was he supposed to look down now? He couldn’t tell. But then Richie said, “Hey, are you already packed?”

“What kind of question is that, of course I’m packed,” Eddie snorted, and couldn’t keep himself from looking at Richie anymore. Couldn’t keep himself from smiling like an idiot either.

“Will you help me?” Richie asked.

And Eddie meant to be gentle today, since Richie was injured and all, but he ended up being kind of not. “Oh, is it not enough that I’m talking to your manager for you? Now I have to pack for you too? Are you sure you can wipe your own ass?”

Richie smirked, which let Eddie know something killer was about to happen. “Why would I, when you’re here to do it for me?”

Eddie was stricken with two simultaneous desires - to strangle Richie to death and to laugh his ass off. He ended up just kind of shaking his head and smiling despite how he definitely didn’t want to. “Fuck you, dude,” he said. “Pack your own shit, in your fucking duffle bag or whatever.” He noticed, then, that his hand was now just sort of on Richie’s chest.

“It’s leather,” Richie said.

“I didn’t fucking ask. Do you even fold anything?”

“When I ran in the middle of the night away from all my responsibilities and towards a childhood I didn’t remember? No, I neglected to neatly fold my jeans. And don’t inhale at me,” he added just as Eddie took a deep breath in, which was fucking enraging precisely because Richie knew it was going to be and was preemptively smirking about that too.

“You can’t tell me how to fucking _breathe_ , Richie, spoiler alert. That’s out of your… control,” Eddie said, losing steam as he noticed he could feel _Richie_ breathing, actually, with his hand on his chest like this and could tell that he was like, so calm. And it wasn’t like Eddie thought he stressed Richie out, he knew Richie liked to argue and that it was a love language or something. It was one thing to know it, though, and another to feel the actual biometric fucking… proof, that Richie…

That was kind of the thing, actually - what was it proof of? Why did this mean so much to him? It could mean that Richie fucking hated him and didn’t care if he was making him upset, why didn’t he think it mean that? That would make sense. But it wasn’t the truth, that was probably the thing, and Eddie knew what the truth was because he _knew_ Richie. Enough to call him on his shit, which was enough to know that Richie did care. And so, what all of this meant was that Eddie could say with reasonable confidence that what this meant, to him, was trust. Richie knew he wasn’t making Eddie mad, and honestly Eddie knew that he knew that already. They were both pretty aware of each others’ limits, that’s why this whole thing worked. So why did this change anything? It shouldn’t. It just felt like it did. Feeling Richie breathe under his hand made Eddie want more. He wondered what Richie’s heartbeat sounded like, if it was this steady and-

“Eds.” Richie tapped on the back of Eddie’s hand, and Eddie jerked away before he knew what he was doing. For a terrifying fraction of a second, he thought Richie was trying to hold his hand.

“What?” Eddie said, sounding so annoyed that he kind of hated himself for it. Then Richie pointedly moved his hand away, and Eddie actually fucking hated himself. He looked up and saw everybody else was gone besides Patty and Stan. Great. At least no one was here to witness his shame.

“Is that okay?” Richie said.

“Is what okay?”

“Leaving for the airport in an hour, dude.”

“Oh, sure.” Eddie glanced up, and caught Patty’s eyes on him _again_ , so that was just perfect. “Go pack,” he told Richie, because he was both desperate to end this situation but couldn’t make himself do the leaving.

Richie nodded after a second, and pulled himself up. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

“You’d better,” Eddie said, kind of on accident, and Richie gave him a half smile on his way to the steps.

“Sweetheart,” Patty said sympathetically. Stan was on his phone, still leaning against her chest. Eddie thought she was talking to Stan at first, until he found her looking directly at him.

“What?” Eddie said.

“Are you okay? You seem tense.”

Eddie gritted his teeth. “I’m not tense.”

Patty screwed up her mouth, speculative. “Right,” she said after a second. “But.”

“You flipped out on Richie,” Stan said without looking up. “What’s up with that?”

“I didn’t,” Eddie began.

“No, you kind of did,” Patty said very kindly. “And not in the fun way I’m getting used to.”

Okay. Eddie liked Patty, he had to remember that. He took a deep breath and let it out, and consciously made the decision to be a normal fucking person. “Well, I’m kind of stressed,” he said.

“No shit,” Stan said. “But you can’t snap at Richie because you’re stressed about Myra.”

“You’re the only one making that fucking connection, so,” Eddie said, looking down at his hands. “I’m not snapping at Richie because of Myra,” he said quieter but also more angrily. “I wouldn’t do that. He doesn’t have anything to do with her, Richie’s not…”

“Well, he’s got _something_ to do with her,” Patty began.

“No he fucking doesn’t.” Eddie was sounding too sharp again, too mean, because all of the sudden guilt was kind of all over him, about how mad Myra would be if she saw any part of how he acted with Richie.

Stan looked up, and looked at Eddie with this look on his face that made it so clear Eddie was being an idiot. It was like fucking Slumdog Millionaire, it took Eddie instantly back to the billions of other times Stan looked at him like that and was right. Only now, Stan had Patty so that meant he had double the power, and that was unfair. It made Eddie say something stupid.

“He’s my best friend, and you know, just because he’s gay doesn’t mean it’s anything more than that.”

“I know, I’m fully aware,” Stan said, his gaze steady. “But it also doesn’t mean it isn’t, necessarily. More than that.” And Patty nodded.

Maybe this was what it felt like, Eddie thought. When he just said what was really obvious to him but it kind of blew Richie’s mind. He was actually totally drawing a blank. Like when you scream so loud, you can’t even hear it over the ringing in your ears. And now he was sort of realizing there was a corner of the box in his mind that had always been labeled _Richie_. If he opened it - which Stan and Patty had done for him, fucking thanks guys - the first thing on top was a new realization: the thing that always made Eddie angriest about Richie hogging the hammock was how much he wanted him to keep doing it, to give Eddie the excuse to sit on top of him and kick his stupid face and swap comics.

Oh my God, Eddie said to himself, very quietly. Holy fuck.

It clicked, then. Why he’d freaked out - why he’d _been_ freaking out, even. Myra and Richie didn’t have anything to do with each other in Eddie’s mind because they couldn’t, or else he was definitely cheating on one of them because he’d always loved Richie more than he ever loved Myra.

Patty was just watching him now, and Stan was back on his phone. “We aren’t trying to tell you anything for certain,” Patty began, as kind as ever.

“Patty,” Eddie said. “I hope you take this in the _fun_ way, but I need you to shut the fuck up, okay? You can’t blow my fucking mind and then try and talk me out of it.”

He was worried that was too much, in the immediate aftermath of saying that, like maybe they weren’t there yet. But Patty just threw her head back and laughed, and Eddie wanted to laugh too, or maybe he wanted to hug her. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him, but suddenly he wanted to hug everybody, maybe, full of this intense gratitude. How else was he supposed thank them for seeing him more clearly than he could see himself - not just seeing, but seeing and staying and waiting it out.

“Alright, darling,” Patty finally said, absolutely sparkling. “Consider me officially shut up. I just know it’s a journey.”

Maybe it was, for other people. For Eddie, it felt a lot smaller. Not a Lord of the Rings style quest to figure it out, but more like… like putting on 3D glasses. The smallest possible adjustment and fucking _everything_ snapping into new focus. Except for some reason he’d just also had the glasses for forever, and he’d been trying to watch the movie without them. Because he’d forgotten he’d had them.

This was a lot more robust of a metaphor than he thought it would be.

“The two of you are dangerous,” Eddie said, trying to get something like normalcy back.

“Yes,” Stan said dryly. “So dangerous to give you unconditional love and understanding.”

“Okay, asshole,” Eddie began with a glare.

Richie clattered down the last few stairs with his leather duffle and matching messenger bag. “Hey,” he said to Eddie. “Where are your bags?”

“By the front door.” Eddie expected it to be hard to look at Richie now, but actually he just felt more free to look at him than ever. Here, at least, in relative privacy. He watched Richie go find Eddie’s bags and put his on top of them - even their fucking belongings were always together, Jesus - and he knew he was being kind of obvious, probably, to Patty and Stan, but that didn’t matter. He’d been obvious enough about it before for them to catch on, a fact that made him sort of want to seal himself in a soundproof room and scream for a few hours. If they’d noticed, Richie had noticed too, so what Eddie couldn’t work out was why, exactly, he’d never said anything. Why, when Richie turned around and found Eddie watching him, he just smiled with his eyes and came back to him.

Smiling, even though Eddie had just been a fucking dick to him. Right, Eddie thought to himself, Richie would rather Eddie be a dick to him than not talk to him at all. So that tracked. It kind of explained everything, actually.

“How’s your head?” Eddie asked as Richie made a show of stepping over the Uris couple.

“Throbbing. Like my dick.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Stan said serenely.

Richie grinned at Eddie, who didn’t make much of an expression because he was in the midst of trying to figure out how he was supposed to reply to dick jokes, now. He was still genuinely annoyed by them, but sort of in a new way.

“Hey,” Patty said. “Wait. Where does that come from?”

“My dick?” Richie asked with delight, and sat down next to Eddie. Not as close as before, Eddie noticed with annoyance and self-loathing.

“No,” Patty said. “The beep beep thing.” She looked down at her husband and then back up at Eddie and Richie. “You don’t use it on anybody else.”

“We would if we needed to,” Eddie said. He wanted to put his arm around Richie or something, to reassure him maybe, but the idea of doing that sort of felt like thinking about doing a self-appendectomy so he didn’t do anything, in the end. “We needed it more when we were kids,” he added.

“True,” Stan agreed.

“What, every friend group doesn’t have a safe word?” Richie said with a lopsided smile. “I think Bill started it. I don’t really remember, do you?”

Eddie knew he was being addressed without needing to look at Richie, but he looked anyways. He wanted to put his hand back on Richie’s chest. “No,” he said. “It was a thing by the time we were friends.” He’d overused it as a kid, definitely, but in retrospect he was starting to think he was just addicted to being listened to. Richie always listened, never took it the wrong way, never told Eddie he was being too sensitive or anything. Fuck, Eddie could even see craving that now.

“There was a time before you were friends?” Patty asked.

“Barely,” Richie said.

Not one Eddie wanted to think about. Hardly one he remembered. Just medicine cups and pills and humidifiers and bed, and okay _shit_ he wasn’t going there today, Richie realizations only, box fucking closed.

“Not really,” he agreed. Not in any way that mattered.

However much of a dick he’d been, it didn’t stop Richie from sticking with him through the whole airport process. They waited in line together and checked their bags together and wandered off while Bill and Mike took the world’s longest time tying their shoes. “I want… a piece of Starbucks coffee cake,” Richie said in a Voice like a fucking prophet or something, so Eddie found a map and led the way to the airport Starbucks, which luckily was by their gate anyways.

“You want anything?” Richie asked. His wallet was out, he’d ordered, and Eddie got so wrapped up in the thought that the barista might think they’re together, like, _a couple_ , that all he could do was shake his head, mute. He didn’t want anything, really, until Richie made such a big deal about how fucking good this coffee cake was and so _fine_ , Eddie had a bite once they were sitting by their gate. None of the others were there yet.

“Richie, this is literally all sugar,” he said with a grimace.

“Brown sugar, though,” Richie said, like that meant anything. “You really don’t like it?”

“I don’t love it,” Eddie said. It was coating his mouth; he ran his tongue over his teeth.

Richie was watching him closely, a bit of a smile on his face. He held out his venti iced coffee to Eddie then, a peace offering. And Eddie knew that sharing straws was kind of a thing, as in kind of a thing he despised and had vocally expressed on more than one occasion. It drove Myra crazy, she always wanted to share what they were eating. So maybe that was the source of the guilt blooming in Eddie’s chest, as he realized he wasn’t going to make a big deal about this and took a sip. It was _Richie_ , he caught himself thinking again, and obviously Richie didn’t count. And now that Eddie was letting himself think about these things, he had to come to terms with the fact that Richie not counting meant something. Like, meant a lot. Enough that he should try to say it.

“Hey,” Eddie said while they were still alone. He had to just say it before he could overthink it. “Sorry.”

“What?” Richie frowned.

“I was an asshole, back at the town house. To you. But I’m just… not that it’s an excuse, but everything with Myra’s got me kind of on edge. So. I’m sorry,” Eddie said, and then braced himself. His only experience apologizing as an adult involved sitting through a whole set of tears and guilt trips and so many questions about his motives that Eddie had learned only to apologize when he had a spare hour or two or there was no other choice. And he was ready to answer. He was ready, when asked, to admit that yes, he was really sensitive about his wife, and it kind of was about the gay thing but not in the way Richie thought it was.

Richie just shrugged. “I figured. It’s fine.”

“You _figured_ ,” Eddie repeated, scandalized.

“You’re not really that subtle, dude,” Richie said, and his face looked younger than ever. Maybe it was the way he was just quiet for a second, and almost settled. “But thanks.”

Huh. Eddie had almost been looking forward to being forced into confessing how he felt. This was unexpected. “Oh,” he said sort of on accident. “Well. Okay.”

Mike and Bev were approaching, with Bill close behind. Their privacy was coming to an end. Richie hadn’t noticed them, though; he was looking at Eddie closely. “What’d you think was going to happen here?” he finally said, an ostensibly joking tone in his voice that Eddie wasn’t fooled by. “That I was gonna realize I’m actually pissed at you?”

“Maybe,” Eddie said. “Or maybe that an apology wasn’t going to be good enough, for like…”

Richie narrowed his eyes. “Dude,” he said. “Come on.”

They held eye contact for a tense moment. Eddie knew he was sort of making this a bigger deal than it needed to be now, like, he did know that. He was capable of separating his marriage trauma from his very functional friendship, thank you. But he didn’t know how to say what he really wanted to apologize for and he couldn’t figure out how to work it in without having the whole conversation, and that moment was over. _Sorry if I made you think I’m scared you’re into me - actually, I’m just scared of how it’s the one thing I’ve wanted for possibly as long as I can remember_. That didn’t feel like a thing you’d say right before getting onto a flight where you weren’t even sitting together. So he didn’t say anything like that. “Okay, whatever,” he said abruptly. “Sorry for being too sorry.”

“Very dumb of you,” Richie agreed, and they officially weren’t alone anymore.

“Hey,” Bev said, sitting next to Eddie and on the end of the row of seats. She was holding an unreasonably big cinnamon roll and some sort of green drink. Possibly a kale smoothie. Eddie wondered if she was trying to reach a sort of gastrointestinal equilibrium. Then, secondarily, he thought they were probably just impulse buys. She didn’t look good, still.

“Hi,” Richie said brightly. “Gonna be a fun evening.”

“It’ll be an evening,” Eddie said, doubtful. But then Bev took a giant, miserable bite out of the cinnamon roll and Eddie realized he’d fucked up again and made her feel worse about all of this. Shit.

Why was it so impossible to just be nice to people he cared about? Eddie rationally and reasonably knew that this stuff wasn’t really connected with his marriage, but it felt like for a moment like he was a terrible person who couldn’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to think about other people.

“Hey.” Richie nudged his arm. “Did Myra text you back? Is that part of this?”

“She called, while you were in the hospital.”

“What? What did she say?”

Eddie took a deep breath in through his nose, let it out while he reminded himself that all this guilt was all in his fucking head. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and on top of that, it was fine and normal for Richie to ask. “She said… a lot. I don’t know. It wasn’t really… relevant, it was mostly about how she felt. We’ll see how she feels tomorrow.”

Richie, curiously, didn’t have anything to say. He just nodded. Eddie thought that was probably for the best, because if he had to keep talking about Myra he’d end up telling Richie all of the things he was realizing and now was _definitely_ not the time either. He reached for Richie’s coffee, just to do something to end that part of the conversation. Richie let him take it, and didn’t make a big deal about it.

Bev was so on edge, every single sensation felt like scraping a sharp thing directly on a glass surface, a shriek promising to shatter. She couldn’t look directly at Ben, so she’d sat next to Eddie, a reliable source of energy and distraction. She’d organized things to sit by him on the flight too, which she was very glad she’d had the foresight to do. With every passing moment, dread was building in her gut and if anyone pushed her she’d probably say they shouldn’t do all of this for her after all.But nobody pushed her, so they all got on the plane.

Bev had asked for a window seat, so Eddie was in the middle with Patty on the aisle. Stan sat across from her, and Mike was next to him. Richie, Ben, and Bill were all several rows back. So Bev was able to settle into her chair and feel safely cocooned from everything, at least for the next hour and a half.

Eddie had a carry-on to put in the overhead bin; when he sat down next to her he was annoyed already. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “They need to enforce their size limits.”

It was hard to know what to say to that. “Oh?” Bev asked.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, and then she felt him looking at her. “I mean. It’s fine. I’m not… actually, like. Upset.”

Bev looked at him blankly. “Yeah,” she said. “I assumed.”

“Okay, well God, I’m just trying to be more-” he began, and then doubled back on his own thought. “I don’t want you to think I’m, like. You seem nervous, and I don’t want to-”

“Eddie,” Bev said. “I’m not scared of you. I don’t think that’s actually possible.”

Eddie looked at the ceiling above them and visibly restrained himself. “Good,” he said crossly. “Great. I’m so fucking transparent. Love it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry about it, I’m just being stupid.”

That didn’t feel right, but Bev didn’t need to push it. She nodded, and put her seatbelt on then. 

Patty leaned in, blocking out the aisle. “Hey,” she said. “Anyone need a blanket?”

“You brought a blanket?” Eddie said, with judgement in his tone Bev would bet he wasn’t aware of.

“Yes. And you didn’t, mister over prepared?” Patty teased.

“No,” Eddie answered, and now he was irritated. “It’s not that long of a flight.”

Patty shrugged, in the manner of someone who was very confident. “Well,” she said. “Your loss.” And she leaned back. Boarding finished, and then the flight attendants began the safety demonstrations. Bev could barely hear them.

“Did you want that?” Eddie asked Bev after a second. “The blanket?”

“I’m okay,” Bev said.

“Okay.” Satisfied, Eddie pulled out his safety card and began to examine it.

Bev wondered how bad she looked, if Eddie was checking in on her like that. Then she thought that she didn’t want to know at all, actually. She was so tired, and Richie had six stitches in his head, and Patty and Stan had kept Tom away from them until the cops got there. Honestly, she thought she might not deserve their concern, after all of that. But she just closed her eyes and waited to feel the G-force of take off pulling her back into her seat.

“Hey,” Eddie said, once they were in the air. Her ears had popped. He was chewing gum, given to him by Patty.

“Hey,” Bev echoed.

“You can tell me to fuck off, but it kind of seems like you’re not super happy with this,” Eddie said, rapid-fire as ever. “And if you’re not, we don’t have to do this. You know you can stay with any of us as long as you want, right? You don’t have to get a house and be there alone unless that’s what you want.”

Bev felt such a rush of love for Eddie in that moment that it almost stole her breath. “It’s not that,” she said.

“What is it, then?”

It wasn’t even a conscious choice to decide to tell him. This was Eddie, and he knew where she was coming from better than anybody. “Well,” she said. “I totally trust Ben, obviously. But… the thought of a person having access to my home is a little bit…”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “Totally. Did he ask for a key?”

“No,” Bev said. “But how would I tell him, if he asked?”

Eddie made a bit of a face that seemed to imply that he thought she should just say it. “One of us could tell him,” he said. “To be totally fucking middle school about it.”

Bev smiled. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what I want. I think that’s the problem.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “It’s kind of paralyzing.”

That’s exactly what it was. Bev looked at him, and she wrapped her arm around his. “I love you,” she said. “Have I told you that, recently?”

Eddie did his best to not smile at her, but it was a losing battle. “Whatever,” he said. “You don’t need to.”

“Well, I’m doing it. I’ve done it. It’s done.” Bev squeezed his arm tight. He was stiff at first, and consciously unstiffened under her touch. After a second, he moved one of her hands into his, and held it. Like last time, it was a little weird. Bev wasn’t used to being close to men like Eddie - neurotic and uptight but gentle about it. She couldn’t remember seeing Eddie ever even trying to hurt somebody - besides Richie, but that was mutual - and that was enough to set him apart, in the same category Ben was in only Eddie wasn’t so imposing. When Tom was standing over Richie, mostly unconscious on the ground, and Bev had looked up to find Eddie with Patty and Stan, all she’d thought was that Eddie seemed so small and scared. Eddie was really nothing like anything Bev knew.

“Do you want to try and figure out what you want?” Eddie suggested delicately. “It’s totally cool if this is just venting, I’m not trying to say I’m tired of listening to you.”

Eddie, Bev remembered anew, was dealing with the fallout of his marriage, too. “Thank you,” she said. “I think… I’m good enough with the current plan that I don’t need to make any others.”

“Okay.”

“Does Myra say you’re tired of listening to her a lot?” Bev asked, trying to be diplomatic back.

Eddie twitched a little, like a full-body wince. “It’s so crazy to be around you guys,” he said by ways of answer. “Because I’ve spent the last like, ten years feeling like a totally… just, like, alone. I guess.”

“She made you feel crazy,” Bev said, not really a question.

“Right. So it’s really fucking… weird. To be around all of you, who can apparently basically read my mind.”

“Right?” Bev said. “I was thinking about that too.”

Eddie nodded.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. On Eddie’s other side, Patty was talking to Stan across the aisle in measured tones. Bev couldn’t quite make it out. Then Patty leaned over Eddie again, and asked Bev, “Do you have access to like, your business records? The books?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t usually look at them, but. Why?”

“Stan could take a look at those, to help you prepare for the divorce. Before there’s any asset hiding or anything. He’s done some forensic accounting.”

Bev did not have the headspace to get into that, so for now she just nodded. “I’ll give him access to anything,” she said, and when she thought of it, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Patty smiled. Bev felt her face heat up a little. Having a friend who was a girl was exciting, she explained to herself. It wasn’t a big deal.

Time passed at a leisurely pace, outside the plane. Bev kept her head down on Eddie’s shoulder and just sort of thought. She processed. “Eds,” she said at one point.

“Huh.”

“How’d you know it was Tom? Richie said you knew. When you saw him?”

Eddie snorted. “You didn’t Google everybody that first night? Seriously? Does no one do due diligence?”

“No one does,” Bev agreed. “And I was kind of busy with Richie, he languished on my bed for a while.”

“God,” Eddie said, with such audible fondness in his voice that Bev found herself asking what she’d always sort of wanted to know.

“What’s going on with the two of you?”

Eddie sighed very deeply first. “I don’t know,” he said. She could feel his voice through his shoulder. “We’ve kind of talked about it. As much as I could get him to so far, because he’s allergic to actual honesty.”

“Right,” Bev said. “Because if he says something we actually don’t like we’re all just going to walk away, in his mind.”

“Yeah, he’d rather make dildo jokes all day.”

“Make dildo jokes and get confirmation that we hate the jokes and still love him,” Bev pointed out.

It felt like Eddie stopped breathing, for a second. “Yeah,” he said. “Exactly. So. We discussed it, and we’re gonna figure out how to live in the same city, because.” Eddie paused.

“You don’t have to explain,” Bev said.

“That’s the other thing,” Eddie said. “Why don’t I?”

Bev frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What would you say if it wasn’t us? If it was like, two guys you just sort of happened to know a lot less. Moving across the country and everything. Within two days of meeting. After almost thirty years of being apart.”

Bev wasn’t exactly following, but she did her best to play her part. “I guess I’d ask if you were really sure.”

“I’m sure,” Eddie said immediately.

“No, but. What if you do all of this, one or both of you uproots your life, and then you want different things? Maybe you don’t want to be around each other forever. Or one of you wants some space. Or you meet somebody, and that causes some natural distance.”

“Oh,” Eddie said. “I think that’s the thing though, I think we have.” There was a heartbeat of silence, and joy started surging through Bev’s whole being. She pulled away to look at him as he kept talking. “Met somebody, I mean. Like what else is it called when you want to be around somebody all the time, forever, and you also kind of want to… to hold their hand, and shit.” He glanced at her then, visibly expecting some kind of negative reaction. Hell, he was braced for it.

Bev didn’t consciously decide to, she just leaned in and hugged him as tightly as she could. It sort of hurt; her seatbelt dug into her hip, but she wrapped her arms around him a little tighter and took a deep breath. Eddie unhooked his seatbelt and hugged her back, his arms around her waist. She could feel his mouth on her shoulder. He breathed with her, too, a little shaky. Of course he was shaken. She remembered their childhood just as clearly as he did, she knew what he was fighting against.

“I…” Bev had to clear her throat. For some reason she was almost crying. She spoke quietly, just in his ear, though Patty was very clearly allowing them privacy. “I don’t have the words,” she said, “to tell you how much I love and support you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he answered, with the barest hint of pretending to be annoyed. “I know. We haven’t talked about that part of it, but.”

“Why not?”

Eddie pulled back, his hands gentle on her sides. “Because,” he said with a shy smile on his face. “I just realized it like two hours ago. And we’re kind of in the middle of all of this.”

“Do _not_ blame this on my abusive marriage,” Bev said, trying to sound fake stern for all she wanted to laugh. She did laugh, then, and hauled Eddie closer so she could kiss the side of his head, which he allowed, though he did turn pink. Patty gave them both a very knowing smile over her shoulder before leaning forward a bit and blocking them better.

“I’m not,” Eddie said, looking happier then she’d ever seen him. “I’m blaming it on both of ours. And everything about all of us being together.” He sat back and folded his hands in his lap, and then she saw the spark of when he thought of something funnier to say. “I _am_ kind of blaming all of you guys for never fucking saying anything, though. It took the gross married people to bring it up. They tried to talk about their sex life, Bev.”

“Ew.” Bev wrinkled her nose.

“I know.” He looked at her, eyebrows raised, silently demanding an answer.

“Well, I guess… I never doubted the two of you loved each other,” Bev finally said. “But I guess when we were younger I didn’t know. And now, since you’d married a woman and everything…”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. I fucked that up.”

For the moment, all of Bev's stress about moving was gone. Most of her brainpower was now being spent on this new world where Eddie was in love with Richie. Largely, she was determining that surprisingly little would change. “So wait,” she said. “Are you worried? Are you scared he won’t…”

Eddie was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Not really. Maybe I should be, but.” There was nothing else, it seemed, that he could say. “I’m not. I know Richie, and I think… yeah. I think it’s always been us.”

“He never fucked with anyone like he fucked with you,” Bev agreed. “And vice versa.”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s ears were pink. “So. I just have to figure out how to say it.”

And then Bev grinned, struck with a sudden idea. “I think I know how I can help.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok listen i know i am boo boo the fool, i have added _yet another_ chapter but it needs an epilogue! get to the end of this chapter and tell me ur not craving a hint of Resolution. married bliss. domesticity. settled life. i am craving it. i daresay i am even yearning

It was probably strange, but Patty always liked to help people move. She and Stan were reliable volunteers in their hometown - Patty would drive their old truck, put on an old pair of roomy jeans, and they would set up friends’ new apartments and houses. She put together bookshelves and Ikea cabinets and cribs, rolled out rugs, lined shelves with contact paper. It was one of her particular joys. So, being able to do this for Bev was close to actually the best thing in the world.

Their flight landed around five. The eight of them piled in two cabs to get to the new house. Patty and Stan split up, because Stan piled into a backseat with Richie and Eddie, and Patty did not intend to let go of Bev’s arm now that she’d captured it. “Let them go,” she said grandly, and squished Bev between herself and Ben in the other backseat. Mike sat in their front set with the driver, immediately beginning a conversation about the driver’s personal life. If they ever got the opportunity, Patty wanted to travel abroad with Mike, and just watch him befriend every single being he came across.

Bev’s old house was very beautiful, and now, rather empty. The movers had taken the major items Bev wanted, which hadn’t sounded like that much. They were here for her personal things, clothes and toiletries and things.

“I feel like Kim and Kanye would’ve had this house if they lived in Victorian France,” Richie said in the foyer. “That’s the vibe I’m getting.”

And Patty knew how the group worked now, she knew that Richie broke the silences everyone else was scared of. Bev was definitely afraid now. She’d shrugged off everybody and was standing, arms wrapped around herself, in the middle of the group.

“Please,” Stan said. “This is more Edwardian.” He and Bill were carrying stacks of flat cardboard, to be turned into boxes.

“Right, because that’s what we need to be focusing on,” Eddie said, and looked at Bev. “Should we spread out?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll show you what we’re taking.”

Mike got the kitchen, packing up the couple things Bev would take from there. “I don’t need the dishes or anything,” she said, and then remembered a few mugs she loved and things like that. Bill and Stan took charge of her office, scooping documents and folders and books into boxes. They wouldn’t leave anything important behind.

Eddie volunteered to help clear out Bev’s closet, a job that actually entailed quite a bit. Naturally, Richie then volunteered to help with that. “Be careful,” Bev said. “Don’t try to carry anything too heavy. Sit if you’re tired.”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Eddie promised.

Patty saw two things immediately after that. She saw Bev and Eddie exchange a look of such long-suffering understanding and love that it almost reminded her of parents, a married couple that had been through everything together. Then, Eddie looked at Richie, and Patty saw such helpless affection written all over his face that she finally understood what he’d been saying earlier. Of course he wasn’t worried about if Richie knew. Any idiot could tell exactly how he felt just from looking at him, and Richie liked to look at him more than any of them. He was at that exact instant, actually, and his answering smile was almost private in its intensity. They were kind of matching - Eddie’s cheek bandaged and Richie’s temple.

“You’ll make me,” Richie repeated. “Bold words for a man holding a silk blouse.”

Eddie glared at him. “If you don’t help, I’ll tell everybody that you got your first boner when we were watching-”

“ _Jesus_ , Eddie, okay,” Richie said over him. For once, he was the one going pink. “Why the fuck did I ever tell you that? And why do still remember that?”

“I remember everything now, dickwad,” Eddie said, a vow hiding under a pretend threat. It was so obvious. Patty folded her hands tightly so she didn’t give anything away.

Ben, who had been listening to them with a pleasant sort of smile on his face, said to Bev, “Anything left besides the bathroom?”

“Well, there’s my second closet in here too,” she said. “Can you help us with that?”

“Absolutely.”

Patty loved packing Bev’s bathroom up. She looked at all the little jars and bottles and tubes, and though she recognized very few of them she knew their general purpose. Bev took care of how she looked. Maybe it was reading into it too much, but Patty saw in all these little things something as steady as Stan, building up belief in a world that was soft and bright and smelled like rosewater and sandalwood and argan oil. While they put all these little things into boxes, Ben cleared out Bev’s second closet - her special occasions closet - taking armfuls of gowns and jumpsuits and carefully organizing them into the big hanger boxes the movers had brought, too.

“What time is it?” Bev asked, when the counters were bare and drawers mostly emptied.

Patty checked her phone. “Almost eight.”

“We should get dinner delivered to the new place,” Ben suggested cheerfully. “Is it too on the nose to suggest Chinese?”

It was a little on the nose. Patty didn’t object, though, and she didn’t actually answer because Bev was smiling. “I’d love that,” Bev said. “Can you handle that for me?”

“Of course,” Ben promised. There was another vow, hidden in plain sight. He left to call and place the order then, and Patty looked back to Bev.

Now that they were alone, Bev sighed. Her head dropped a bit. “Bev,” Patty said, and met her for a hug neither of them had to ask about. Hugging Bev was such a pleasure. They agreed on how to hold each other automatically, Patty going over Bev’s shoulders and Bev’s arms holding around Patty’s middle. “Almost done,” Patty said.

“And then the rest of it all starts,” Bev said, her voice light with dread.

“The divorce?”

“No,” Bev said. “I’m not even worried about that yet. I mean, like, trying to set boundaries in my new… thing. With Ben. That’s what I’m thinking about.” And with a final squeeze she let Patty go.

“Boundaries how?” Patty frowned.

“No, not, like. Just boundaries, in general. Because I haven’t gotten much practice with them,” Bev said, and wiped her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about whether or not she was crying - even though she was - so Patty obligingly ignored it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever had a functional, long-term… anything,” Bev said, trying to sound calm. “Maybe it’s me.”

“It’s not you,” Patty said.

“It might be! Just, rationally looking at the facts.”

“Rationally, you did what people do all the time. You got drawn into a pattern you’d been stuck in before. It has nothing to do with you, there’s nothing wrong with you. Bev, please.” Patty took both of Bev’s hands in hers and looked her in the eye until Bev looked back. “Dearest,” she said quietly. “It’s okay if things don’t work out with Ben.”

New tears spilled over. “They will,” Bev said miserably. “He’s wonderful.”

“Okay, but. It’s really okay if they don’t, also. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Bev did, but she didn’t want to. “I don’t know,” she sniffled.

“If you put all this pressure on yourself and on him, for things to work out, that is the quickest way to kill things. You have to let yourself feel however you feel, even if it’s not… picture perfect! Or however you feel like you need to be.”

Bev nodded, wiping her eyes. “That makes sense.”

“How do _you_ feel?” Patty asked, still holding Bev’s hands.

“I feel… well, I do love him,” Bev said first. “Ben. I do, he’s… he’s connected to the part of me I haven’t let myself acknowledge. For a long time. He’s understanding. But I think I need time to get to a place where I can be understanding back. I’m…”

“You’re in survival mode,” Patty said, and Bev nodded. And then Ben came back in for his last trip and Eddie came to say they were done with the closet and their conversation was over for the moment.

Patty mostly thought of herself as a peaceful person. She had evidence to that effect, too. Most of the time, she talked her way out of things. But when she saw Tom and all the cartoonish villainousness about him, Patty’s pacifism went out the window. She could’ve killed him. She wanted to. Instead, she had to settle for becoming an immovable wall, with Stan, around Richie and Bev until the police arrived. Mike and Bill helped too. Ben had just held Bev, and Eddie helped Richie sit up and got him talking. Patty would never forget the blood dripping down Richie’s neck from his temple and cheek, getting on his shirt as he nodded vacantly in response to some question from Eddie. Particularly, she couldn’t forget how it seemed like they’d done this before. And as they all got in new cabs, on their way to the new house, she thought about that moment and hoped that Bev’s new home was a fortress.

Bev’s new house was in a word, sublime. It wasn’t that Patty doubted Ben’s taste or his architectural prowess, but it was something else entirely, seeing the house and how perfect it was for Bev in particular. It wasn’t too modern, but it didn’t resemble the sterile apartment they’d just taken her out of, either. It was a friendly Craftsman-style house with a detached garage and a view of the neighbor’s woodlands. A wall around all the land, codes at every gate, a beautiful front yard, a cobblestone-lined garden around one side. It was beautiful, and special, and furnished, and Bev was in tears for the first few minutes, while they walked through it.

The walls were all different shades of muted colors, green and blue and gold. The furniture matched perfectly - not too much. The kitchen was enormous, connected to both a dining room and a back patio. There were three bathrooms, and actually five bedrooms, but Ben thought one would make a good office; the second-largest bedroom, which was right next to the master suite and looked out over gently rolling hills of the the back yard. It had a bed in it that they moved into one of the other bedrooms, to make room for her desk.

“You work a lot,” Ben said, kindness and knowing in his voice. “I wanted to make sure you still had space for it.”

What Patty noticed also - and what she was pretty sure Bev had cottoned on to as well - was that there was no space for Ben in this house. Nothing built in. He hadn’t planned himself into her life. That would be something Bev would had to figure out. And the way Patty knew Bev noticed was the smile on her face, for the rest of the evening as they moved boxes and furniture into approximately the right rooms.

They had yet another communal meal here, after dark, sitting out on the patio around a big table. There were twinkle lights, strung back and forth over them. Bill and Bev doted on Richie, playful and totally serious at the same time. Eddie watched from his chair at Richie’s side, his eyes darker than ever in the dim light. He smiled, suddenly, at something Bill said, and then dropped the smile just as quickly to answer in convincing faux-seriousness. Everyone laughed at that.

“Like Ben and the yearbook page,” Patty heard Bev say.

Ben, on hearing his name, smiled automatically. He was, as ever, sitting quietly in the middle of all of them, contributing rarely. Stan, next to him, was mostly doing the same thing. Patty, now slightly intoxicated, wanted to draw him out. She leaned over Stan. “Ben,” she said.

“Yes,” he answered.

“This is such a beautiful house.”

Ben’s smile grew. “I’m glad you approve.” On nearly anyone else it would sound sarcastic. Ben just sounded sincere.

“We probably spent three years searching for the right house,” Patty said, looking to Stan for confirmation. “Right? Two or three?”

Stan nodded. “And then we ended up redoing most of it anyways.”

“Oh you did?” Ben asked, and that got them going on the subject of tiling, and brick-laying and whatever else. Mike said something about carpentry or something. Patty loved Stan and the other boys and she’d helped with all of the remodeling, but she tuned out of that conversation now, in favor of checking back in on Bev, on her other side.

Bev was glowing. She and Bill were arguing over what they remembered about a bonfire that one summer, while Eddie and Richie laughed and threw each other fleeting glances. It was another one of those moments that felt magical. And after the day they had, Patty was ready for a lifetime of meals like this, and everything in between. Loud conference calls and packages in the mail, texts and photos and visits and just all of it.

They were the first in bed that evening. “Thank God for Ben and the furnished home,” Stan said, facedown on the bed. “If I had to put sheets on this bed right now, I’d fall asleep on this bare mattress.”

“Seriously,” Patty said. She was on her back beside him. “Ben is the glue holding this society together right now.”

Stan snorted. “That’s the real secret,” he said. And then, after a minute, “Is Bev okay?”

“She will be,” Patty said, and fell asleep before she could add anything else.

Richie remembered the way he knew Eddie’s mom was bad. It was how quiet Eddie got around her sometimes. Well, not just quiet. Quiet was fine sometimes. They’d spent hours together not talking, watching movies and reading or whatever. But Richie knew the difference between that and however Eddie got when his mom asked him about his medications, or doctor’s appointments. It was the same way he got when Myra called.

The thing he couldn’t figure out was why Eddie picked up - it was like, after eleven at least and they were tired and happy. Why would Eddie want to ruin that? But then he watched Eddie’s face while he listened to her, watched him sort of retreat until he was a million miles away, picking at his lip sort of absently, and Richie thought, okay. This made sense. This was Eddie, frozen in place because he thought he was being cared for and like he said to It, he was always kind of scared that whatever came up next, it’d be bad enough for everyone to leave.

If Richie’s head was less scrambled, he’d take the phone and say something. Something funny, even. Make her stop and feel stupid and make Eddie laugh. But he was tired, and his head hurt, and nobody seemed to care that much that he hadn’t been funny all night. So, Richie kept his mouth shut.

“I know,” Eddie said eventually. “I hear you, but that doesn’t mean I feel the same way, okay? We don’t agree on how that-” He stopped mid-sentence, closed his mouth, and listened more.

Everyone else had gone to bed, now, except Bev who was asleep in her chair. Ben had gone in to sleep on the couch, without being asked. There was something going on there, Richie would definitely bring it up. Just tomorrow, though.

“Look,” Eddie said, in the tone that meant he’d interrupted her. “You can’t say that. I’m listening, I am literally listening to you right now and I just don’t agree. Those both can be true, are you aware of that?” He only waited for a second. “Okay, then we don’t have anything else to talk about right now. Bye.”

“Sounds like a bitch,” Richie said after a second, when the emptiness on Eddie’s face was about to kill him.

Eddie looked at him, a shrewd evaluating glance that had Richie suddenly tense. He’d been doing that a lot more today. It made Richie feel like something else was coming, some other horrifically simple, undeniable statement that would totally realign Richie’s life. Usually he’d just talk through it, counting on volume to drown out everything else. But his head _really_ fucking hurt from that brick wall and it just felt like maybe he couldn’t stop himself from letting Eddie see him.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Patty says I need to establish more healthy boundaries with her.”

Richie smiled, and didn’t pick up the banter on purpose. Concussion, he’d say if asked. But maybe it wasn’t that yet. Maybe he’d just managed to do the very basic math and put together that Eddie and him would be sharing a room and thus, a bed. So like, how was that for boundaries?

It almost gave him a weird amount of hope, earlier when Eddie let him lie in his lap. Richie had almost said something really dumb, something like, _this is all I ever want._ But then Eddie had freaked out at Richie touching his hand, as much as he tried to say it was about Myra, and it seemed pretty clear that Richie shouldn’t want things like that, not if he wanted to keep what he had. That was fine. Richie could take a note.

What he couldn’t do, though, was think of a way to share a bed that was both normal and definitely platonic.

He tuned back in to find Eddie just watching him, the faintest smile on his face. “What?” Richie asked.

“Nothing,” Eddie said. “Let’s go in, I’ll check on your stitches. Make sure you don’t bleed out in your sleep.”

Richie’s mouth was dry. “Okay,” he said.

They got Bev up to her room first, accepting her good night kisses with smiles. Then Eddie shepherded Richie into the bathroom with his toiletry bag in hand. “Sit,” he said, all bossy little bitch. Richie regretted making the comment about Myra. It’d make it hard to explain how affectionately he meant the term here, if someone called him out. About as hard as trying to explain why he was smiling when he realized that sitting, he was only a couple inches shorter than Eddie standing.

“Are you actually brain damaged?” Eddie asked. “You seem super out of it.”

“Just concussed. And tired.” Richie took off his glasses and put them on the sink.

That was apparently good enough for Eddie. He unzipped his bag and got things out, placing them on the counter neatly. Then he looked at Richie, debating something. “Tell me if it hurts too bad,” he said then, and once Richie nodded, Eddie finally touched him.

He had to pick at the tape to get it off. After a few moments of frustration, Eddie reached out and held Richie’s head in place with his other hand, sort of cradling his jaw, his thumb on Richie’s cheek. And Richie just froze, because all of a sudden he forgot how to want something less than this. His heart was hammering so hard, Eddie would definitely be able to feel it in his neck. Richie waited for that, for the inevitable comment, but Eddie just pursed his lips with concentration and got the tape off. It stung; Richie winced. “Sorry,” Eddie said. He peeled the gauze off too. It was dried to Richie’s scabs, so that also hurt.

“Y’know, I swear I remember you doing this before,” Richie said. Countless times before, even. Eddie loved to whip out that little fucking fanny pack and patch them up.

“Yeah, Rich,” Eddie said patiently. “We all remember.” His hand was still holding Richie’s face; he used it to move Richie’s head to get a better look at the damage zone. “But six of us wised up and stopped picking fights with assholes.”

“What’s it look like?”

Eddie gave him a look that considered him deeply stupid. “It looks like you have six stitches an inch from your eye.”

“Okay,” Richie sighed. “Come on. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. He took his hand away, which was awful but also at least a return to what Richie knew he should think of as normal. “It’s pretty swollen, but the stitches are clean and you aren’t bleeding anymore,” Eddie said, to clarify. He looked at Richie. “And whereas the me from twenty-five years ago would probably dump rubbing alcohol on your head, I think the best thing I can do for you right now is cover it up and leave it alone.”

Richie didn’t like that. But who was he to object to Eddie’s medical prowess - he just nodded. “Yes, sir, Doctor Kaspbrak,” he said solemnly.

“Asshole,” Eddie said. And then carefully taped a new little pad of gauze over the spot.

Again, Richie’s dumb gay brain focused on the totally wrong things. How Eddie wasn’t touching Richie like he was worried about anything. He was being normal. And that was good, Richie reminded himself. They just needed to keep being normal.

“Now would be a great time to brush your teeth,” Eddie told him when he was done.

Richie squinted at him, and sort of blindly reached out for his glasses. He missed, and then Eddie put them in his hand. Their fingers brushed. Eddie didn’t flinch, so Richie did. “Thanks for that gentle fucking hint,” Richie said. “But I’m gonna go change, I’ll brush my teeth after. Without you watching.”

Joke successful - Eddie smiled. “Fine,” he said.

So Richie shoved his glasses on and pulled himself to his feet. He was dizzy, but he didn’t want Eddie to ask him about it. All of a sudden he felt like if he was in the same room as him any longer he might throw up from the pure longing of wanting to do all this mundane shit with Eddie every day, forever. That wasn’t on the table, Richie reminded himself. It was just a little confusing, when their things were all piled together in one room and when Eddie was touching his face like that, like Richie hadn’t been touched for probably years. That was sad. It was also not Eddie’s fault or concern. He was in the middle of all of his own shit, he didn’t need Richie’s lonely middle-aged crisis.

But. The one bed. Richie stood for a second, just looking at the bed they’d be sharing. Fairly standard. Two nightstands. Four pillows. He couldn’t decide if he was over or underwhelmed, so instead he just changed into his pajamas like he said he would, and then brought his toothbrush back to the bathroom.

Eddie had just finished flossing. He made eye contact with Richie in the mirror, just for a second. Basically immediately, Richie was self-conscious. He looked down at himself. Fantastic 4 shirt that he’d gotten from a fan, because of his whole elastic dick bit. He’d had it for a while, it _was_ getting a little threadbare, but he also thought Eddie had liked those guys, so what was he complaining about? Maybe Richie’s sweatpants were a little gross. He didn’t bring nice pajamas, so sue him.

Eddie was still looking at him.

“Something on my face?” Richie said.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Medical gauze.” He moved over, making room for Richie at the sink.

Richie welcomed death, or whatever would make him stop feeling like this. Instead, he settled for brushing his teeth with uncommon care, looking directly into his own eyes in the mirror and not at Eddie. Peripherally, he could see Eddie also brushing his teeth.

Ugh. There it was again. The longing.

Eddie spit first, because Richie stubbornly stuck out as long as he could, determined to last longer. He was really struggling with the amount of toothpaste he’d chosen to use, and also had the horrible suspicion Eddie had cut his brush time short. “I was kind of obsessed with Mr. Fantastic,” Eddie said then, and Richie almost choked. “Remember?”

Richie shook his head, and spit out his own mouthful of foam.

“Yeah. We’d say he kind of looks like you.”

With great care, Richie rinsed his mouth out and put his toothbrush on the sink, in its little travel holder. He did _not_ panic, but he did say something really dumb while he wasn’t looking at Eddie’s face. “So he was your favorite?”

“What?” Eddie pulled out a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash, and poured himself a cap full. “No, dude. Green Lantern was my favorite. Obviously.”

Right. Richie knew that, when he wasn’t in the middle of a mental meltdown about what Eddie had been obsessed with. “So that movie sucking balls,” Richie began.

“Yeah, it was basically one of the biggest disappointments in my life,” Eddie said, and cracked a smile. “But Deadpool helped me get over that.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Richie said in surprise. “Right.”

“Did you see it?”

“No, I’ve been on tour since the end of January.”

Eddie frowned. “Really? That’s a long fucking time.”

“Yeah, well. Reno, San Fran, and then LA was the end of the whole thing. So. It looked good, though.”

“It _was_ good,” Eddie said emphatically. “We have to watch it.”

For a second, it was hard to find words. “Sure,” Richie said at last. “Yeah. That’d be fun.”

Eddie knocked back his mouthwash then, and Richie escaped. But then he got back to the room they were going to share, that normal fucking bed, and Richie could almost cry. There was so much he wanted, or so much he thought he wanted, but at the end of the day all he really cared about was the last thirty seconds. Talking about dumb shit with his favorite person in the world. That’s all he wanted. And he had it, that was the thing. He had it and could continue to have it, as long as he kept his fucking shit together.

His head hurt. Richie sat on the bottom of the bed and put his head in his hands - well, he moved his glasses up on top of his head, and then he put his head in his hands, and then he swore his ass off because he’d just dug his fingers into a black eye he forgot he had.

“Stop touching your face, idiot,” Eddie said, coming into the room.

“Yeah,” Richie sighed miserably. He stayed where he was, face in his hands but much more mindful of his injuries. He heard Eddie shut the door, and Richie could feel the back of his neck prickle with anticipation. This was normal, he reminded himself. You didn’t see Bill and Mike having a meltdown over sharing a room. Though, they did get separate beds.

There was sound of a bit of a shuffle, and Richie lifted his head to find Eddie changing, like right there. Pulling on flannel pajama bottoms, and for a second Richie saw his black boxer briefs and his face went hot like he was a fucking teenager again.

“You’ll probably need to get on the phone tomorrow,” Eddie said when he noticed Richie was looking at him. He sounded awfully fucking normal for a dude taking his shirt off. “I can do a pretty good impression of you over text, but you’ve gotta talk to Dan yourself eventually.”

So Eddie and Richie’s manager were on a first name basis, now. Great. He didn’t even mean it sarcastically - Richie wasgenuinely glad that Eddie was already fitting into his life so easily. But it was hard to have a lot of coherent thoughts when Eddie’s blurry but obviously still muscular arm was directly in front of him. And chest. And shoulder. God. Eddie was strong now, that was such a trip. Richie looked back down at his hands, to pretend none of this was a big deal. “What have you been saying?” he asked, after clearing his throat.

“I explained that you had a personal emergency,” Eddie said. “Your best friend had a sudden illness, needed surgery, and so you flew home in a fucking fugue state or something.”

“He was convinced by that?”

“I said it better than that,” Eddie huffed. He was once again fully clothed, but it wasn’t really any better for Richie. Eddie was in a soft-looking black T-shirt, which made every part of him look better. His neck, of all things, was where Richie’s eyes landed. He watched Eddie swallow. Then he realized Eddie was looking at him, so Richie dragged his eyes up to meet his gaze. Eddie didn’t seem to notice anything was weird. “So you’re getting on the phone with him to talk about making up your tour dates, and you’ve already started working on a new half hour about this experience. And you’re not going to get specific about any of what happened because you’re actually a private person.”

“I am,” Richie repeated.

“Yeah, that’s more believable than you forgetting your entire fucking childhood and the six of us.”

Richie had to give him that. “Okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

Eddie just huffed out a breath, so annoyed, and then came over to get in bed. _Be normal_ , Richie instructed himself, and got up to move to the side of the bed Eddie wasn’t on. He took his glasses off and put them on his nightstand, and then looked over to find Eddie plugging in both of their phones to charge on his side. God. Richie looked away again, and then actually decided to just lie down. He wondered if Eddie noticed how he hesitated, getting under the blankets - he just thought about if it would be insane to suggest one of them stayed on top of the sheets or some dumb no-homo shit.

“I’ve been thinking about what we were talking about,” Eddie said then. “About moving and everything.”

“Okay…”

“I don’t know if I’d like LA. The pollen season is way worse. And we’d be closer to Bev in New York.”

So he wanted Richie to uproot his life instead. That was fair, in a way. Eddie had more going on. It was good that he was telling him, too - better than the vacant kind of silence when Eddie tried to talk to Myra. It was just that, shit, Richie actually kind of liked his house. Richie wanted to dig his knuckles in his eyes again, but the pulsing in his skull was getting intense without it. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fine.” He could feel Eddie looking at him, waiting for more, or something, but Richie didn’t have anything more to give him. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, here.

“Do you like New York?” Eddie prompted after a second.

“Yeah, I’m here for shows a lot. I mean, I don’t have a house here, I have a house in LA. But I could talk to some people. Get out here before the end of the year, probably.” Richie shrugged. “I’ll need Ben’s friends’ help getting an apartment, though.”

“Fuck,” Eddie agreed. “I hadn’t thought about that. That’s gonna fucking suck.”

Richie opened his mouth. Was it wrong to ask if they could live in the same building? He closed it again. He wanted to ask about the short term, too. Would Eddie take time off and come to LA to see him? Was he interested in coming on the last tour dates? It seemed like maybe Eddie was fixing up Richie’s shit so he had something to go back to, and Richie didn’t know how to tell him there as nothing he wanted to go back to but Eddie.

Eddie turned off the light, but one of the phone screens was bright. It was hard to make out which, exactly. “Getting some important business emails for me?” Richie asked.

“It’s Myra,” Eddie said, quiet again.

“Oh.” Richie only hesitated a second. “Gimme,” he said then, and held his hand out. “I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t want you to send my wife a dick pic, Richie,” Eddie said, so completely serious that Richie snorted.

“I wouldn’t,” Richie said, instead of asking if Eddie was thinking about his dick. That was the second time he brought it up today. Or maybe it was just fucking… normal dude behavior. It probably was. The guys he hung out with at clubs talked about dicks like, a lot, for guys who claimed to be straight. “I won’t say anything,” Richie added, “I just don’t want you to be tempted to check it in the middle of the night, or something.”

Eddie did hand his phone with charger over, but he argued as he did it. “I won’t check,” he said disparagingly. “But I just want to see the previews, y’know? To make sure I don’t need to reply.”

“Why on God’s green fucking earth would you need to reply?” Richie asked, leaning over to plug in Eddie’s phone. He looked at the lock screen too. The most recent text began _I’m just trying to take care of you. I won’t apologize for…_ And as Richie was looking, another one came in. _Lol and you are so delusional if you think I won’t fight for…_

“I don’t know,” Eddie said. He was still sitting up, his back against the headboard. “Maybe she’ll ask a question. And I can answer it and she’ll stop, for a second.”

“Or maybe she just wants to wear you down into letting her be in control again. And looking is giving her what she wants,” Richie said, putting the phone on silent and then putting it face down on his side. Then he noticed Eddie hadn’t said anything. He looked over in Eddie’s direction and saw his blurry shape. “You can say I’m wrong,” Richie said, trying to be understanding. He’d really like to be wrong.

“I know.” Eddie lay down too. “I just don’t understand why it takes you telling me for me to realize that’s what she’s doing.”

“I watched your mom do it too, I know the signs,” Richie said, quietly. He wasn’t sure if that was still off-limits.

Eddie moved - it sounded like he turned his head to look at Richie, maybe. “You were thinking that about my mom, the whole time?”

“Not the whole time,” Richie said. “I mean, you left when we were, what fourteen?”

“Yeah, before high school. A couple months after Bev.”

“Right. So I don’t think really understood anything until like. Maybe even after you moved.” Before the Toziers moved too and he forgot Eddie existed, somehow.

The silence between them was audibly temporary. “You thought about me after we moved?” Eddie asked then.

Richie loved him too much to lie. “Yeah, man. All the time.” He thought about asking something then, like maybe asking what Eddie thought of his mom now. Or what Myra had Eddie doing and taking besides that inhaler and the pills Eddie had mentioned flushing. Maybe Eddie would tell him a little more about the years they’d missed.

With a sigh, Eddie rolled over fully onto his side. He sort of awkwardly touched Richie’s arm, like he was just figuring out where exactly they were in relation to each other. Keeping his safe distance, Richie thought, before Eddie scooted a little closer. “I don’t have your phone number,” he said, already half-out. Eddie always fell asleep like that, in about thirty seconds flat. Richie could poke Eddie awake, if he wanted to, try and finish this conversation, but instead he just let go and joined him.

Richie slept great, the first night after killing It. Next to Eddie, he slept even better. This mattress was way better than the one in his room in Derry - maybe better than the one at home, even. He woke up feeling almost heavy with sleep, totally at peace for once in his life. It was fucking incredible - Richie took a deep, rested breath.

And then his eyes flew _THE FUCK_ open because Eddie’s head was on his chest. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around his chest. Richie’s arm was over Eddie’s shoulders, his hand sort of naturally resting on Eddie’s waist.

It took a lot of time to determine conclusively this was not a dream. Like, a lot. Richie just lay there, stock still, until he felt Eddie wake up, with a change in his breathing pattern. Just a matter of time before the freak out, Richie reminded himself. Do not take it personally. But Eddie just stayed where he was too.

Suspense was killing him. The idea of trying to say something normal and pretend like this was unremarkable, or fine, was beyond stupid. This was everything. So Richie did his best to ruin it.

“Y’know most guys just leave the money on the dresser and are gone before the sun’s up,” he said, his voice still creaky.

Eddie stiffened. “Shut up,” he said after a second, his voice small. “That cannot be the first thing you say to me.”

“Right, sorry. I still owe you a blowjob.”

That did it. Eddie groaned loudly and pulled himself up off Richie’s chest to kneel next to him. One of his knees was touching Richie’s side. He was leaning over too, like close enough for Richie to see his face without his glasses so Richie could fully see just how furious Eddie was with him. It wasn’t as much as he expected, though. There was something else in there too, soft and understanding.

“Look I get what you’re saying, and I understand you’re uncomfortable,” Eddie said, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m not-” Richie began, caught off-guard.

Eddie continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But you can’t just fucking Borat your way out of this one. I’m not gonna let you do that, so I’ll fucking go first, if I have to.”

“What?”

There was a pause that Richie could’ve called pregnant if he didn’t hate the way that sounded. Eddie’s mouth was open, but he hesitated, twice, before he got it out. “It’s you,” Eddie finally said. “It’s been you as long as I can remember, before I had the, like. Words to know what it was to love somebody. The first thing I remembered when I saw you was that fucking hammock, and sitting in it with you, and…” Eddie took a deep breath. “I don’t care where we live, or anything. Just that we’re both there. And that we’re together until one of us dies. Okay?”

Richie’s first conscious thought in the following silence was that this had to be a dream. His second was funnier, so he said it. “I am brain damaged after all.”

“No you aren’t, idiot,” Eddie said. His hand was flat on the bed, his fingertips just under Richie’s side, and it was sort of terrifying, actually. It was fucking stomach-clenching to think that Eddie was doing that _on purpose_ because it was such a total upheaval of just, everything. And Richie had just woken up. Fuck.

He reached to dig his knuckles in his eyes, but Eddie caught his hand on the way and pulled it down and said, “You are the stupidest fucking person alive, Richie, _do not_ press on your black eye again.” But he said it in a way Richie knew, a way that Richie was used to catching in fleeting moments and overanalyzing and rationalizing away. Only now - Richie’s brain was finally catching up - Eddie was saying that they didn’t have to do that anymore. They could just… be together? And sound like this on purpose? It didn’t sound real.

“Uh,” Richie said, very intelligently, because Eddie was holding his hand now. And the one thing Richie hadn’t considered, through all of this - okay, probably hadn’t let himself consider because being wrong would kill him - was that Eddie might be afraid of wanting too much, too. “Okay,” Richie tried again. “Then why’d you say you didn’t want to move to LA?”

Eddie frowned. “What?”

“Last night.”

“No, I know, but.” Eddie shrugged expressively, throwing out both hands but keeping hold of Richie’s. “I don’t know! I thought you’d try to talk me into it. Since when do you just say okay to something?”

“What are you talking about, why would I not listen to you?” Richie demanded, feeling increasingly off-balance.

“I was opening a discussion,” Eddie said. “So we could discuss it.” And what he was very carefully not saying, Richie put together like five seconds too late, was that Myra didn’t listen to him and Myra tried to talk him into things so regularly he needed a strategy like this to deal with it.

Richie didn’t know the rules yet. He decided to follow Eddie’s lead, so he sat up even though it meant letting go of Eddie so he could use his hands. For a second, Richie let himself believe he’d get to hold Eddie’s hand again. Maybe whenever he asked. “Fuck it, then, fine,” he said. “You say you don’t want to go to LA? That’s bullshit, you’d love it. Everything’s vegan and people are all about health and we don’t have winter.”

“That’s your pitch?” Eddie said, frowning skeptically. He sat back a little bit, now that Richie was up too, still closer than usual, and that was saying something. Eddie could practically be in his lap, if he wanted to be.

This was all too much. Richie scratched his cheek - the uninjured one, because Eddie was watching him very closely to make sure - and looked over at him. Fuck this. If Eddie was going to do this honesty thing, Richie was allowed to, too. “I don’t have a pitch, dude. That’s not how I do this. Important, fucking… conversations with people.”

“Right. You don’t do them at all,” Eddie said.

Okay. So Eddie was kind of defensive. Fine. Richie reached over for his glasses and kind of jammed them on his face, and then carefully itched his forehead. “Maybe not. But I don’t want to go into shit assuming you’re not saying what you want because you think I’m not gonna say what I want. That doesn’t seem like a great way to start this.”

Eddie screwed up his mouth and nodded grimly. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay, good point.” He was looking extremely serious about this, like he was going to analyze the shit out of this now that he’d said it out loud.

And then Richie realized that, shit, Eddie had just put his fucking heart out there and Richie just started an argument about where they’d live, as if he cared about that at all. Eddie had just literally said the thing Richie hadn’t let himself dream about, and Richie hadn’t said it back. “Eddie,” he said. “Of course I also, like.” It was harder to say than Eddie made it seem.

“I know,” Eddie said. “Well, I figured.”

“I’ve been in love with you before I knew what that meant,” Richie said, just to be clear. “Also.”

“God,” Eddie said, looking really annoyed and also still smiling at him. “I can’t believe you made me go first.”

It was all out in the open now so they didn’t have to be weird about things, but apparently it was kind of their special fucking gift. They mostly didn’t look at each other while they were getting dressed, super awkward about it, until Richie turned to him and said, “Wait, so you’re gay.” It was a question that didn’t sound like one.

“Uh.” This had not occurred to Eddie to think about. Like, at all. “I guess,” he said, but it wasn’t like he wanted to be out there banging dudes. He wanted Richie, and a divorce, and at the very bottom of the list was _figure out sexuality in some hypothetical universe without Richie_. Case in fucking point, he hadn’t thought about it for a single second when he didn’t remember Richie.

“Cool,” Richie said, nodding. He was mostly dressed now, T-shirt and jeans and another one of those loud shirts on one arm and not the other. He seemed to have forgotten it. “And what about… um. Like, telling people,” he asked, with a nervous glance that Eddie felt in his gut, the emotion contagious.

“As in the other people in this house?” Eddie asked, and when Richie nodded, “I mean, Stan and Patty already know.”

Richie gave him a dramatically shocked face. “What?” he demanded. “What the fuck!”

“You’re the one who told me I wasn’t subtle.” Eddie could feel his face heating up; he crossed his arms at Richie. “It’s not like I even said anything, they could just tell, I guess. Or something. Though, I guess they didn’t say anything for sure, they just sort of suggested that…”

“That you’re a homo,” Richie said. It was kind of crazy what a difference his giant dopey smile made in those words. Eddie could hardly believe he’d made it sound like a good thing.

“Finish putting your shirt on,” Eddie said, instead of getting into the weeds about Patty and Stan’s specific wording. He loved Richie too much to argue semantics right now - fuck, he could hardly look him at him for how much he loved him, except Eddie had been trying not to look for what felt like forever and now, with no reason not to, he thought he might never stop.

Richie looked down at himself, and then reached behind himself to get the other sleeve. “Okay,” he said. “Well. So they know. Do you want to tell everybody else?”

“Oh, I also told Bev,” Eddie said, but he knew that was funny so he was grinning already when Richie began with his elaborate exasperation routine, huffing and pacing. “On the plane,” Eddie clarified, watching Richie pace. “As practice. You know, since telling your best friend you’ve recently realized you’re in love with him is kind of fucking nerve-wracking, to say the least.”

“I can’t _believe_ you told Bev,” Richie said, and he sounded kind of mad but then he was smiling again. Fuck, maybe this was just going to be Eddie’s life now, being fucking in love and happy even when they were irritated with each other.

“Well, it just sort of came out.”

“Like I did in the sewers,” Richie said brightly. “Up top!” And he held his hand up.

Eddie kept his arms firmly crossed. “Just because we’re dating doesn’t mean I’ll give you pity laughs.”

“Oh are we dating now?” Richie asked, letting his hand fall. This was the opposite of before, this was a joke that was secretly serious behind the smile.

This was ridiculous. “Yeah,” Eddie said. “Obviously. Unless we’re engaged.”

Richie raised his eyebrows. “Uh,” he said. “Well. No.”

“We’re not engaged,” Eddie repeated.

“No. I want to propose. And I think we should take it… slow. A little bit. Because…” Richie sighed and crossed his arms too. “Okay, not to bring the room down, but I’ve only dated two other guys, and both of those times for less than like, two months and the last one told me that I hate myself too much to be in any relationship and I think he kind of had a p-”

“Bullshit,” Eddie said, although he hated cutting him off when Richie was actually being vulnerable for once. “Whoever that was, he’s an idiot.”

“Ryan Murphy would disagree, he’s cast him like six times.”

“Who’s that?”

Richie laughed. “The guy who made American Horror Story.”

Eddie gave him another pointedly blank look. “I don’t like horror.”

“I guess you probably didn’t see Glee either.”

“I have no idea what that is.”

“Did you live under a fucking rock for twenty years?”

“No, I watched other things that weren’t horror or something called _Glee_ , Richie.” This was stupid. This was the dumbest thing in the world. They’d finally fucking Said It to each other and the first thing they did was argue about goddamn TV shows that weren’t even the point of what Richie had mentioned? “Listen,” Eddie said, and Richie looked him in the eye and it was fucking palpable, the look hit Eddie like a physical object and it was so clear that Richie had been holding back, too. Fuck, they’d both been holding back for so long and wasting so much time.

Richie consciously uncrossed his arms, and reached out for Eddie with the kind of hesitance that made it clear he’d probably flee, screaming, if Eddie turned him down. And they were only about ten minutes into this relationship, it made sense for him to be nervous about this shit, but Eddie hated it anyways so he gave Richie his hand quickly. This was the first time they were holding hands like this, on purpose. Fuck.

“Look, it’s not like I want to go straight into, like…” Eddie began, and stopped. He couldn’t finish that sentence even to himself, because he both wanted everything with Richie and couldn’t bring himself to think about, like. Getting naked. God, it was awkward even in his head. It made his mouth dry. “Slow’s fine,” Eddie said. “But that guy’s a fucking idiot. Tons of people who hate themselves are in great relationships.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said definitively. “And we’re gonna be two of them. Okay?”

“Okay,” Richie answered. “Fine. So you’re okay telling the rest of everybody.”

Eddie nodded, because of course he had to nod and also he did want to tell them. But it wasn’t all of it, because now that he was thinking about being with Richie, he was thinking about being _with_ him, and that was pulling up a lot of stuff he hadn’t ever let himself get anywhere fucking near. While he was being honest with himself, Eddie had to admit that he’d probably married a woman, actually, to stay away from it.

Like, leave gay sex out of the conversation entirely, and like actually please do that, Eddie was Not There Yet. But fuck it, even the thought of like, sitting next to each other, touching Richie’s shoulder to get his attention and not having to overthink it, taking his hand in the grocery store, fucking… kissing him in some fancy fucking restaurant or something, all of that felt a little bit beyond reality. The life of someone else, not Eddie. Eddie had a wife he didn’t really like but really liked him, and a job with the same dynamics, and he’d gotten really used to believing that was the best he’d get. At least, that’s how he felt until he’d been around Richie again, and realized that he could like someone so much it scared him. it was kind of corny and gross but Eddie could admit in the privacy of his own mind that fucking Myra was nothing compared to holding Richie’s hand right now. God, what a fucking cliche.

Everybody else was up, but not all in one place. Stan and Patty were sitting on a blanket in the grass, and Ben and Bev were inside at the island. Bill and Mike were outside too, at the table. Eddie could hear them laughing about something. He and Richie headed towards the kitchen by unspoken agreement.

“Hey babe,” Bev said, mostly to Richie. Was jealousy allowed now? It felt dumb to be jealous of Bev. “There’s pancakes in the oven, still warm. Toppings right here. Fruit and juice in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Richie answered for both of them. Bev didn’t notice that was weird, so maybe it was normal. How fucking normal was it, for them to be so codependent? God.

They weren’t holding hands anymore, but it felt obvious that they wanted to be. Everything kind of felt obvious. Eddie went straight for the food, but Richie stood sort of tentatively at the island, kind of by Ben and Bev, and watched. That was fine now, that was allowed and normal. Ben and Bev didn’t seem to notice - they were talking about house details or something. Eddie just couldn’t help but notice. He was able to ignore it most of the time until he was standing at the island across from everybody else, struggling to spread jam on the middle pancake, and then he felt Richie’s eyes on him like a tangible presence. Eddie glanced up at him.

“How’s it going?” Richie asked.

“Fine.”

Richie snorted, and came around to him to help. “Who puts jelly on pancakes, anyways?” he said, and took Eddie’s knife from him. “Is the answer no one? Is that why you’re so bad at this?”

“It’s jam,” Eddie said when he could talk. “Since when are there rules about what goes on a pancake, I mean seriously, it’s just a carb delivery system for toppings and I don’t like syrup.”

“Do you really, or is it your sugar thing?”

Good fucking question. “You’re so annoying,” Eddie said, and Richie grinned down at the pancakes.

Eddie could kiss him. He could just lean over and fucking kiss him, and Richie would be happy about it. This would never stop being the absolutely craziest shit in the world.

“Here.” Richie passed the plate back. He’d managed to do a better job than Eddie, which was ridiculous and offensive. “Are you ideologically opposed to coffee for some reason?” he asked, and went off behind Eddie somewhere, in the direction of a coffee pot Eddie could vaguely remember seeing.

“Uh, I’m not taking a moral stance against syrup, it’s for my health,” Eddie said. “It’s a physiological opposition. It’s a biochemical one, okay. Even if that doesn’t end up being totally true, it’s-”

“Do you want coffee, asshole?” Richie said.

And Eddie snapped his mouth shut, his face rapidly heating up. “Sure,” he said in a much more reasonable tone of voice. That was obviously what Richie had been trying to say - if Eddie wasn’t fucking incapable of being nice to someone, he would’ve gotten that instead of getting defensive about his glucose intolerance which was actually probably bullshit and not worth getting upset about anyways, and he could feel that old familiar voice in the back of his head, telling him it was a miracle anyone wanted to spend any time with him at all when this was how he talked to them. Eddie had been sawing his pancakes into increasingly smaller squares for a while now - to preemptively shut himself up, he filled his mouth.

Shit. These pancakes were really fucking good.

“Anything in it?” Richie asked.

“No,” Eddie managed to answer around his mouthful.

Across the island from him, Bev narrowed her eyes at them but she didn’t say anything. Ben was kind of politely looking between everyone, no thought in particular on his face. That was the fucking dream honestly. Eddie wished he could turn his brain off for even ten seconds.

Richie came back then, and put a mug down next to Eddie’s plate. “Thanks,” Eddie said. And okay, new discovery: the thing that kind of sucked about all of this was that now he didn’t have a good excuse for not saying shit that he’d rather not acknowledge. Like, he kind of wanted to apologize for being a dick, and maybe if they weren’t now dating - holy fuck, they were dating - he wouldn’t worry about this too much but it was starting to feel like maybe he should be worried. Like he probably should apologize. You had to apologize to people you were dating, that was kind of ingrained in him. And now his only reason for not saying it was embarrassing himself in front of Ben and Bev, which felt extremely lame.

“You realize there’s sugar in jam,” Richie said after a pause. He was still standing next to Eddie, drinking his own mug of coffee. “Like a lot of it. It’s a main ingredient.”

Eddie despised him. He couldn’t look at him. “Yeah,” he said. “I can read an ingredients list.”

Richie was quiet for a second, and in the silence Eddie couldn’t tell if he was being looked at or was just going slowly insane. “Okay,” Richie finally said.

“Alright. Hold on,” Bev said. “What’s going on with you guys?”

“What do you mean?” Richie said. Eddie would give anything to see what Richie’s face was doing right now but turning to see felt like admitting defeat so he kept his eyes trained on his plate.

“You’re not arguing,” Bev said.

“Sure we are,” Eddie said.

“Well,” Ben said. “Not like normal.”

Eddie glared at him. “Thanks, _Ben_ ,” Richie said. At least he was reliable support, Eddie couldn’t fuck that up.

“Don’t blame Ben,” Bev said, her voice high. “I’m the one asking you the question.”

“What’s the question even?” Eddie demanded. “That we’re not being antagonistic enough, like why we _possibly_ would be getting along?”

Bev looked at Ben, who was smiling at her. “Now, that sounded more normal,” she said, and Ben nodded in agreement.

“Christ,” Eddie sighed.

“I thought you said you told Bev,” Richie said to him.

Again, Eddie had two simultaneous reactions, both at equally overwhelming levels: he wanted to tackle Richie to the ground and stop him from ever speaking again but he also had to appreciate that Richie was choosing the stupidest, funniest way to tell Bev they were together in the world. He ended up smiling, shaking his head because of how much he hated it, just waiting for Bev’s reaction.

It clicked after a second. “ _WHAT!_ ” Bev said, and whacked Ben’s arm. “Oh my god!”

Ben didn’t seem to totally get it. “What?” he said.

“I couldn’t tell her that we were dating when I didn’t know what you’d say,” Eddie said, feeling reckless, and finally let himself look at Richie, who was smiling deep into his coffee cup. It felt dangerous. Part of him thought that looking would expose him too totally, remove his plausible deniability. Actually now that he thought about it, the way to put what he was afraid of was being outed. Pretty backwards, when he already had a boyfriend, even if he couldn’t bring himself to look at him half the time. But that was pretty fucking stupid, because he really liked looking at Richie. Eddie had wanted to tell him that all the time when they were kids. He’d see Richie in class zoned out, or on his bike coasting along next to Eddie, or on the floor of Eddie’s bedroom staring at the ceiling, and Eddie would read a million things into Richie’s face. And before he knew how Richie felt back, Eddie had been convinced that telling him would be making it weird. He’d never been able to bring himself to tell him and ruin it.

“Dating?” Bev said loudly, and Richie glanced up and caught Eddie looking, his smile turning smug.

God, Eddie’s heart all of a sudden was fucking racing. “Answer the question, Rich,” he said. “Since you apparently want to tell her so bad.”

Richie didn’t answer that second part, he just stepped a little closer and put his hand on Eddie’s arm, in the crook of his elbow. “Well,” he said, dragging it out. “I don’t want to blow anyone’s mind, here, but uh. Eddie and I are together. Now.”

“Oh,” Ben said pleasantly, raising his eyebrows. “Like. In a relationship?”

“Like I’ve had to drop all my other numerous sexual partners in order to focus _all_ my erotic energies on this lucky guy,” Richie said. “And believe me, I am nothing but energy these days. My dick’s been-”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said, and Richie shut his mouth.

Bev was giving them the dreamy, warm sort of look that Eddie scoffed at most of the time, but this time he had to admit that, okay, it was kind of warranted. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “So you’ve figured it out.”

“Probably not,” Eddie said, and looked at Richie for his take.

“Parts of it,” Richie corrected him. His hand was still on Eddie’s arm. He started to move a little closer, like maybe he was gonna step behind Eddie and hold him and the idea made Eddie’s skin crawl so he shrugged Richie off.

The thing that kind of killed him was how Richie listened. He backed off, and let his hand drop to the counter, where he leaned. Bev had more questions, and Richie was totally happy to answer them, so Eddie had nothing but time to think about how Myra had always complained that it seemed like Eddie felt obligated to touch her and never that he wanted to. It wasn’t the same thing, not even a little bit, because Richie hadn’t said that or even implied it and Myra had been all over him preemptively, like she could force him into changing his mind. And it wasn’t the same thing because Eddie actually wanted Richie’s hands on him, he _did_ , but.

Okay. He hadn’t totally been telling the truth earlier - even in his own mind, Eddie couldn’t stop fucking lying to himself, sectioning pieces off that he papered over with lies. He had thought about this stuff before - gay stuff. Okay? He had, as much as he’d kind of desperately told Myra otherwise. There had been moments - a meeting with a client, or at a dinner, or at the gym, or if he was being honest a lot of the time at the gym - when some guy would catch his eye in some way. A look, or a smile, calves or backs or a handshake would make the back of his neck hot and he’d fumble whatever he was doing, and he felt like a fucking pervert for it. He’d wanted it then just as much he did now, so much he sort of burned with how much he wanted it, but at the same time, he hadn’t addressed the part of him that still felt like what he wanted was wrong. Like, end of the world wrong, somehow, in a way he couldn’t articulate.

“Hey.” Richie nudged him. “Sit outside? Get some sun? I hear it’s good for you.”

Eddie nodded. Richie picked up Eddie’s cup for him, so Eddie took his plate and followed. Bev patted them both on the shoulder as they passed her. “So happy for you,” she said. And Eddie almost told her not to count her chickens. There was still a ton of time for him to fuck this up.

They sat at the table, which was empty now that Bill and Mike had joined the happy Uris couple in the grass. Richie set their mugs down carefully, then flopped into the chair next to Eddie, elbows on his armrests and hands folded over his stomach. “So,” Richie said after a second. “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“Not bad,” Eddie agreed, and got back to eating. Everything here was good, not just the pancakes. The bacon and eggs and fruit, it was all picture fucking perfect.

“I went off script,” Richie said. “I realize that. So. Sorry, if that made you… uncomfortable, or-”

“No more than usual.”

“Okay.” Richie sounded just the same as ever, when he was deciding whether or not to get serious. Joking used to always win out, as kids. “It’s just you hadn’t, uh. Been a while since you used it,” he said after a second, because they weren’t kids anymore. They were adults, and they could fucking talk about things.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Guess you grew up.” Then something occurred to him. “Wait, did you not want me to?”

“No, no. It’s totally fine. It’s always been fine, but.” Richie sighed, and took his glasses off to rub his temples. Maybe he had a headache. Eddie thought about offering to get him some Tylenol, but then he thought about his mom forcing him to take the millionth fucking pill and decided not to. “I just wanted to check,” Richie finally finished. “Make sure you’re not upset.”

“If I got upset every time you said something dumb, I wouldn’t be your friend, much less date you.”

Richie just laughed. “Good point,” he said. “But still, I just wanted to… I mean, we’re not kids anymore and just because you put up with that before doesn’t mean you still want to, and that’s totally valid.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!”

“I know you’re serious, that’s why I want you to shut up.” Eddie put his utensils down on the plate and sat back to look at Richie. “Seriously, how could you think that’d be a deal breaker?”

“Because it has been before. With other people.”

“Well, not with me,” Eddie said. He picked his fork back up. “It’s never really mattered what you say, anyways. The stopping is what matters.”

Richie frowned and made eye contact. “What?”

“What, what?”

Out in the yard, Patty said something that made all the guys shout with laughter. Eddie didn’t look over, though, because Richie seemed actually kind of thrown.

“What do you mean?” Richie said. “Explain.”

“Which part?”

“You don’t care what I say?”

“No,” Eddie said, the _duh_ unspoken but still understood because Richie rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you mean anything by it, you’re just talking shit.”

This was apparently a challenge for Richie to understand. He was frowning. “The stopping is what matters,” he repeated.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck, I’m not speaking Swahili here. What’s so hard for you to get about that? You always stop.” Eddie shrugged, and his heart was beating a little faster because he was thinking about just how much that had always meant to him. “You don’t even try to argue your way out of it, which I feel like you definitely could if you wanted to, some of the time.”

“What, I could tell you why you’re wrong to be upset?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “Exactly.”

Richie was still looking at him like he was saying something completely new. “Huh,” was all he said. “Okay.”

“No, fuck that,” Eddie frowned. “Why are you asking? I feel like you’re hearing something I’m not saying.”

Richie just sighed, and sagged further into his chair. “I think that happens a lot,” he said, more to himself, and then awkwardly met Eddie’s eyes again. “It’s just. You’d always avoid the question, before.”

“What question?”

“Why you like me, dickhead!” Richie said, sounding frustrated. “When all I did was bother the shit out of you.”

“I liked being bothered,” Eddie said.

Richie quirked his lips up, part of a smile. “Okay. Good. Then I won’t stop.”

“You’d better not.”

Richie reached out for Eddie’s hand then, and the loathing didn’t win over the love this time. Eddie took his hand, and let himself admit it felt good and _was_ good and made him happy.

And then Bill and Mike came over to say good morning and noticed their linked hands so Richie took great delight in telling them nonchalantly, that he and Eddie were dating. So then that was done, and basically everybody knew that they were together and yet Eddie still hadn’t gotten a divorce.

He got the ball rolling, at least. Called the lawyer - in retrospect, it was a red flag that he’d had a divorce lawyer’s name on hand for several years now - and had a pretty long conversation about the paperwork side of things. He got a list of things to do and put together, and at the end of the call the lawyer said he expected this to be a relatively quick process, a couple months probably. That didn’t feel quick, but Eddie didn’t say that. He thanked him and hung up, and then put his head down on Bev’s desk.

Stanley was on the floor, going through some papers with a calculator Eddie was pretty sure he brought from home. “Hey Eddie,” he said reasonably. “How’d the call go?”

“You heard it. You know how it went.”

“I know. That was a polite way of suggesting you tell me more about what’s going on,” Stan said.

“What’s going on is that I’m getting a divorce from a control freak who’s going to drag this process out as long as she possibly can,” Eddie said without raising his head. “And it’s not like I care about the money, but she’s gonna get at least half of everything when the most she’s done is sell crystals to women in her bikram class for less than she bought them for. So that’s kind of a bummer.”

Stan was quiet for a second. Eddie just heard the clicking of buttons. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” Stanley finally said. “But I don’t understand how Myra stops you from being yourself.”

“Myself how?”

“You are also very much a control freak,” Stan pointed out, a little bit of a smile in his voice. “I have never known you to back down from a fight, like ever, and you’re not the kind of person who lets someone win. So what’s so special about Myra?”

“Nothing!” Eddie said, with emphasis that was probably disrespectful to his wife of eleven years.

“Okay, then why aren’t you ready to eat her alive?”

Eddie lifted his head to find Stan up looking at him expectantly. Believing in him. “What if she wants to come after me?” Eddie said. “And she finds out that I’m… gay, and cheating on her, and like-”

“Who cares?” Stan said. “You aren’t cheating on her, and you’ve been gay.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Eds,” Stan said. “Your wife isn’t going to convince any of us that you’re a bad person. And none of us are going anywhere.”

Eddie put his head back down on the desk because he didn’t want to talk to Stan about why that made him almost cry. He was thinking now, not in a panic-stricken way but just sort of casually, floating, thinking about how his mom had gotten everybody to believe he was sick everywhere they’d moved. And they’d moved a couple times, after they left Derry. Always further down the New England coast, somewhere they didn’t know her patterns, and the memory that Eddie had been hanging onto, the knowledge that he wasn’t sick, faded with the miles. That’s probably why it felt inevitable, each new group of people realizing there was something wrong with him and keeping him at a distance.

“Hey.” Stan was right next to him all of a sudden, standing and then leaning down to cover Eddie in a bear hug, slipping his arms under Eddie’s and clasping his hands under Eddie’s chest. “I love you,” Stan said into Eddie’s back.

“Whatever,” Eddie said. Then he pulled a hand under himself to get it around Stan’s. “I love you too. And since Richie and I are dating, that probably makes you my best friend.”

“Since I’m married to Patty, same,” Stan said cheerfully. “Well, the two of you are probably tied.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie wiggled free then, and stood up. “You think I should fight?” he asked, just to double check.

“I think… yeah. I think you deserve as passionate a defense as you give cottage cheese, for example,” Stan said with a smile in his voice, and Eddie had to admit that was kind of funny and also a good point.

“You haven’t even heard me on GMOs yet,” Eddie said.

Stan was preemptively annoyed just at the mention. “Every crop cultivated by man has been genetically modified to an extent!”

“That’s my opening statement,” Eddie agreed, and went to find Richie. While he was on the phone, Richie had made himself scarce, wandering off with Bev and Ben somewhere. Eddie found them out in the garage - big, room for three cars - standing and talking about something Eddie couldn’t quite make out.

Richie saw him first. “Oh, hey,” he said louder. “Ask him yourself. Eds, when are you back in NYC?”

“Oh, like am I coming on tour with you?” Eddie said, and Bev and Ben both snorted. “I don’t know, do you want me to?”

“Of course I want you to,” Richie said, and Eddie saw Richie sort of feint towards him, start to reach for him and stop himself, and something clicked in Eddie’s mind. Oh, he thought. Okay. Richie saw more than Eddie thought he did. That conversation was about more than just Richie talking shit.

It was so easy when Eddie made up his mind to just do it. He stepped closer, just one extra step, and put his arm around Richie's waist. Richie reciprocated, one arm falling heavily over Eddie’s shoulders, holding but not clinging, and Eddie thought, okay. This could be what things could be like. It felt doable.

Bill left that afternoon, flying back home to Audra. The other seven of them had a triple-feature movie night, the specifics of which took most of dinner to negotiate. Eddie sat next to Richie at dinner, and then for the movies too. Richie plopped himself into a corner, arm out along the back of the couch, and Eddie sat next to him. The softness of the cushions almost felt like a trap, encourage him to lean increasingly close, dangerously closer.

No, fuck that. It wasn’t dangerous to be close to him. It was good, and everything he wanted, and above all, safe. Richie was the person in the world that was most safe. And as Eddie had this internal debate with himself, he let himself keep sliding closer.

After the bathroom break between the second and third movie, Eddie came back to find Richie already comfortably settled back in to his corner, arm out, and that’s when Eddie discovered a previously uncharted wellspring of desire inside himself. He wanted to be held by Richie.

At first he kind of freaked out about that, and sat a little further away. How did it make sense, for him to want that? It should feel emasculating, probably, and exposing and weird. But then, Eddie corrected himself, no. It was neither of those things. It was normal and reasonable, and Richie would never make him feel bad about wanting this. And, for that measure, Richie wouldn’t try to hang onto him once Eddie was done, either. Richie stopped when asked.

Eddie glanced at Richie, saw the reflection of the movie in his glasses, and then Richie turned his head to meet his eyes. “What’s up?” he whispered, faux serious.

He could tell him, if he wanted to. Richie would listen, and he wouldn’t make dumb cracks about this. He’d say something maybe a little funny but definitely right, and he wouldn’t bring it up in public or something or hold it over Eddie’s head.

“Nothing,” Eddie said. “I’m just glad we… we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “Me too.”

It took a second to work up the nerve. But once Eddie could convince himself it was a good idea, he started by scooting over. The couch did a lot of the work for him, letting the weight of them tilt them into each other so then they were sitting side by side, and the warmth of Richie against him was enough for like five minutes. Then Eddie wanted more. So he just did it, he put his head down on Richie’s shoulder, slipping even closer, and Richie carefully put his arm around him and then it was just that simple. Richie was holding him.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, but also Eddie finally let his breath out and felt something in his gut unclench, and this was officially the first time he’d felt, like, home that he could remember. So maybe it was a little bit of a big deal.

The mundane reality of owning her own house was more surprising than Bev ever dreamed it would be. Tom had taken care of the home-type things, the stereotypical man’s work - figuring out which windows were sticky and which bathroom cabinets that needed handles tightened. That was all something she’d need to take care of, or hire someone to. She needed to find a place that would deliver mulch for the garden beds, and someone to mow the lawn or to sell her a mower so she could do it herself, and she needed a ladder so she could change lightbulbs in the entryway - or really, anywhere else. She couldn’t reach the ceiling anywhere.

Most of this came up didn’t come up right away. Those first few days when everyone was here helping her unpack and get settled, Bev started to feel like she had her legs under her again. She could handle this. Ben walked her through the security system and didn’t ask her what the front gate code was when she reset it, and Tom didn’t show up, and Bev had her first night of feeling totally and actually safe. And then her second. And then on the third night, she started to realize that her nights might just stay okay. No yelling, no worry, no need to know what she could defend herself with in every room. Not that she’d ever had an exhaustive catalogue, but she did catch herself glancing around more than once, thinking _paperweight, fireplace poker, geode bookend_. Just in case.

Stan took her aside the night before they left, up to her office where he’d laid out papers over her desk for them to review. First stack: the prenup she’d signed, at his family’s insistence. “Do you know what’s in here?” Stan asked.

“I had a lawyer review it,” Bev nodded. It gave him basically everything, in the event of a divorce. She’d been doing her best not to think about it.

“Okay. Well, I’m not a lawyer, but the relevant section is this.” Stan flipped to a section he had marked with a post-it. “This. In the event that either of infidelity on either of your parts, the document is void.”

Bev nodded. “I had to fight for that,” she said, though she couldn’t decide if she was proud or embarrassed.

“Good,” Stan said. “Great.” He moved on to the second stack. “So you let me take a look at your expense reports. I printed out some relevant portions.”

“Hold on,” Bev said, her brain catching up. “Are you telling me he cheated?”

“Well. Unless he was buying lingerie and jewelry for himself, then it seems likely,” Stan said, his tone dry.

Bev snorted. “I doubt it.”

“Okay. Well.” Stan went to the third stack, which was tallest and had dozens of post-its. He flipped to one, and showed her the highlighted entries in a list. “I’ve documented the suspicious expenses. You’ll want to take this to your lawyer.”

“Thank you, Stan,” Bev said, and hugged him. “You’ll never know how much this means to me.”

“Of course,” Stan said into her hair. “I’m glad I could help in any way. I have to say, this was pretty brazen. I didn’t think we’d find anything as open and shut as this.”

Bev didn’t want to tell him, because the boys had this conception of her as a badass that she was loathe to challenge, but the truth of the matter was she’d sort of known. It was obvious. There were only so many times she could take being accused of cheating before she started to suspect it was projection. And then, as it continued, that was basically cemented as another fact she preferred not to consider. She had no doubt that if she’d asked him about it, he would’ve denied it violently. So she hadn’t asked, and he must’ve felt free to continue.

Richie and Eddie were the last to leave. They stayed a day longer than everyone else, and Bev got the sense that they only left then because Eddie insisted. “You can’t run from your career forever, Rich,” Eddie said when they’d been discussing their flights.

“No,” Richie said. “Just as long as you can run from your wife. Right, honey?”

Eddie had rolled his eyes. The whole thing felt normal, even with them holding hands throughout the whole conversation. It really hammered home how they’d always been mostly in love with each other. Bev found them aspirational, in some ways. She didn’t think she could handle a relationship quite that… antagonistic, at times. But she did envy how automatically they factored each other in. They were already A Couple, in all the selfless ways Bev was finding so hard.

To his eternal credit, and with a cheerfulness she couldn’t exactly understand, Ben wasn’t pushing anything. He’d been sleeping on the couch while there weren’t enough beds, and then in Bill’s bed after he left. He didn’t even go into her bedroom once she was moved in, and Bev was starting to understand that with him, a door that she closed would stay shut. So on that last night with Richie and Eddie around, she sought Ben out.

He was in bed, reading something on his tablet. “Knock knock,” Bev said from the door, and Ben smiled at the sight of her. It made her heart stutter with a joy she didn’t feel totally worthy of.

“Hey,” he said.

“I thought we could talk about… plans,” Bev said. She fought the urge to cross her arms.

“Awesome,” Ben agreed. “Here?”

“Sure.” Bev came over to his bed and sat across from him, near the foot. Ben put his tablet aside, and leaned towards her, elbows on his knees. “Do you have to get back to anything?” she asked to start.

“I already work remote most of the time,” he said. “So not really. But that doesn’t mean I expect to stay here, I can be out of your hair whenever. It’s a lot, to go from…”

“Well,” Bev said when he trailed off. “I kind of want you to stay. For a while longer. If that’s alright with you.”

Ben was already nodding. “Yeah, of course. I’ve been thinking about having a property out here anyways. So. I found something about an hour away. I can be nearby, but not too close.”

For a moment, Bev wondered just how transparent she’d been. “That might be nice,” she said.

“Bev,” he said then, searching her face earnestly. He didn’t find whatever he was looking for. Honesty, maybe. “You’re not going to make me angry by telling me you want space,” he said. “I’m just looking for direction, here.”

Right. Yes. “I know,” Bev said. “Okay. I’d like it, if you were closer, even once I’m ready to be alone. Which I’m not, yet.”

He’d always taken direction well. “Alright,” Ben said. “Then that’s the plan.”

“I had one more thing,” Bev said, and she was feeling brave so she just blurted it out. “Do you want to stay in my room? Because I’d, um. Like that.”

“Yeah.” Ben’s smile shone as bright as ever. “Sure. If you’re sure.”

“Yes. Though, I’ll warn you. I’ve already claimed probably three quarters of the bathroom.”

Ben held his hands up innocently. “Hey, your house.”

That’s right. It was. That was the thing about Ben, the number one way to sum up what was so miraculous about him: he respected her authority. Unquestioningly, the way he respected the rules of gravity. When he’d thought she wasn’t interested, he’d said nothing. Now that he knew she was, he still kept most of his thoughts to himself in a way that seemed almost pathological. Bev thought it was probably a sign she was feeling better that she was finally noticing.

She was feeling good, actually, not just better. More like herself - the bold young self he remembered, not the quiet person she’d become. So. They were getting ready for bed together. He’d showered and then let her in, so the room was steamy and warm and Ben was shirtless, brushing his teeth. Bev had noticed his shoulders when he opened the door, and he’d saw her see with a little smirk. It was feeling good, and fun, so Bev decided she was going to do a face mask.

It took some digging to find them. Eddie had unpacked the bathroom, and she was sure there was a system to how he’d put things in shelves but it wasn’t hers. Somehow he’d managed to put all of the shit she never used in the front. Eventually she found the one she wanted, and put her hair up to get it out of the way.

“So,” she said to Ben, who had finished and was just watching her, perched on the edge of the tub. “You know about my romantic track record. Tell me about yours.”

Ben smiled with surprise. He seemed to have a smile for every emotion, all slightly different flavors. “Well,” he said. “I haven’t really been with anyone serious. Like, ever.”

“Okay… so a lot of one night stands?” Bev asked. And when Ben didn’t answer, she glanced at him in the mirror to find him kind of pink. “Oh my God, really?”

He shrugged. “They were all consenting adult women!”

“I’m sure they were,” Bev said with delight. She had to stop smiling to spread the mask evenly over her face; it took some effort. Ben, a ladies’ man. Incredible.

“In the interest of honesty, two of them were married,” Ben added after a moment. “Which I only found out after the fact.”

Bev huffed out half a laugh. Sure, why not. “Alright. Were you safe?”

“Mostly,” he answered with another shrug.

“Was it… satisfying?”

“Yeah,” he said in a tone that meant no. “I guess as satisfying as possible, when I couldn’t remember the childhood trauma I was trying to cope with, right?”

“Right,” Bev snorted. “Seriously.” She inspected her face in the mirror and determined her face well-covered. “A lot of things that always freaked me out make a lot more sense now,” she said, and put the bottle back in the cabinet. “Like…” She stopped herself, just for a second, and then remembered that she didn’t have to. Ben was just sitting there, waiting. “Well.”

“People touching my stomach,” Ben said with understanding.

“Yeah. I’ve never liked baths. Or drains I can see into. Or people touching my hair.” This wasn’t dangerous to tell him, Bev reminded herself. “I’d feel like I was about to throw up for what felt like no reason.”

“Exactly,” Ben agreed. “It was so confusing.”

“I felt like I was going crazy.”

“Seriously.”

“It filled my bathroom with blood,” Bev confided on sudden instinct. “Up from the sink drain. When we were kids, that’s… that’s how I saw It.”

Ben frowned. “Whoa. Intense. Do you have a blood phobia?”

“No,” Bev shook her head.

“Oh.” He was silent for a moment, and then said, “Oh, so it was more about your period.”

Bev raised her eyebrows as high as they could go. “Uh…” she began, and paused. “Yeah. I think, actually yeah. I hadn’t really… put that together. Okay.” Boy. That was a real re-evaluation, of sorts.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“No, it’s okay. Good perspective.” Bev touched her forehead, before she realized she had a mask on, and then she folded her hands instead. She leaned back against the counter, getting comfortable as she thought about what he said. “Well, I guess I’ll put that on the… list. For therapy. When I get there.”

“Sorry,” Ben repeated, miserable, but he had a smile for that too.

“It’s really okay,” she said. “I just wish I could return the favor.” The mask was beginning to tingle a bit, in a refreshing way.

“One day I’m sure you will,” he said.

Bev nodded. It was a little weird, she thought, that Ben was both more open and more able to see what was going on with her. Maybe those two things were connected though, maybe Bev could open her heart up and let herself know him.

They kept talking as she finished her mask, washed it off, and finished the rest of her face routine. Just chatting, like they did during the day. The exceedingly normalness of this situation really helped set her mind at ease, so by the time they were climbing in bed Bev was firmly, totally at ease.

“If I get up in middle of the night,” she said while they adjusted their pillows, “nothing’s wrong. And I’ve been dreaming a lot less, so it won’t happen as much.”

“Okay,” Ben agreed cheerfully. “I mean, don’t worry about it. I can sleep through most things, though. In college, my bedroom window looked out on possibly the brightest neon sign in the world and my roommate snored like a truck, so. You don’t have to get up, you could stay here. Turn a light on or whatever.” He sat back against the headboard for the moment. He was wearing a shirt now, but Bev still couldn’t help but look over at him, at his hair and lips and arm.

Bev answered after a second. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, a hundred percent, I won’t wake up. Unless you want me to,” he added. She didn’t need to check that he meant that; it was obvious. He was so good at being obvious, for her.

“Hey,” Bev said, and when Ben looked over at her, she leaned over and kissed him. And then, to her surprise, they ended up sort of making out. Ben was like, incredibly good at it - or else Tom was extremely bad at it, because it had never made her feel so easily, intimately cared for. She didn’t even mind the scratchiness of his beard stubble, because everything else about him was so gentle. He turned to get an easier angle, and then she decided to get into his lap, straddling his legs and putting her hands on his broad shoulders.

Ben doubled his arms around her waist. “You good?” he checked before continuing, and kissed her cheek when she smiled.

“Very good,” she assured him. But then, after a minute, Bev’s brain kicked back in and she began to overthink this. It was so good that he’d definitely be upset when she wanted to stop here, right? Surely. So then she had to stop, to prove that she could. She pulled back and pushed him away, sort of lightly pinning him against the headboard. “I don’t think I want to go any further, tonight,” she said. She was breathing a little harder than usual.

“Okay,” Ben said. “Sure.” His arms were still loosely around her, but he let go the moment she began to get off of him, and he didn’t give off any angry energy.

This was fine. This was normal, and good, and fine. Bev lay down next to him and then leaned over to get her light after he turned out his, and then she reminded herself it was fine one more time. And before she could figure out how scared she was, she fell asleep.

She didn’t wake up during the night; a fact that she figured out after she woke up in the morning, gentle light coming in through the window. And she wasn’t trapped or scared - in fact, she was holding him. One arm was under his neck, the other wrapped around his chest, linked with one of his hands. It was like holding the warmest, firmest body pillow, and it was really working for her.

Richie and Eddie had to leave around noon, which meant that at a quarter till, they were waiting by the front door for their cab, bickering loud enough to be heard from anywhere else in the house.

“We’re not late!” was what Richie said when Bev joined them there. He looked to her for support. “Fifteen minutes early is not late.”

“By definition,” Bev said neutrally.

Eddie, clearly, did not agree. “Okay, so we were on time _this_ time,” he said. “But if something goes wrong, we could be late unless we’re earlier next time.”

“You need to relax, dude,” Richie said, messing with the zipper on his bag. “If we’re late, we’ll just make the Uber driver speed.”

“That is absolutely not an option.”

“I’m joking.”

“I know you’re joking, that was not the point of- you can be all hilariously loosey-goosey whatever the fuck you want on your own time, but I will not be late because you thought it was stupid to stand around and wait for ten minutes.”

Richie smiled at Eddie with the stupidest, dumbest, loving-est smile Bev had ever seen. “Loosey-goosey,” he repeated.

“Do _not_ pretend I invented that term,” Eddie instructed him.

“I didn’t say anything like that.”

“Well, but you kind of did.”

“You can’t tell me I said something when you read my mind and saw what I was going to say and thought better of,” Richie said, and Eddie’s ears got a little pink and he didn’t argue anymore.

Ben had come in for the end of that. “Wait, which one can read minds?” he asked. “Just for future reference.”

“Your wife,” Richie said brightly.

And he did have a point about the prophetic visions but Bev wasn’t exactly thrilled to be bringing that up again, in the last few minutes she would see them for a while, so she opened her mouth to argue. At the exact same time, Richie began to add something, but Eddie cut them both off. “I swear to God, Richie if you do your fucking Borat voice right now I will heckle you at every show until your tour ends, and not in a way where you could make it funny, in a way that would absolutely ruin the vibes.”

“Hey,” Richie said solemnly. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, bucko.”

“More like don’t threaten to do his self-sabotage for him,” Ben said in a deceptively mild tone. “I’ll miss you guys.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Richie said. “Come here. Give daddy a kiss.” He did, indeed, kiss Ben on the cheek, dramatically loud, and then hugged him goodbye. “God, it’s like hugging a marble statue,” he said as they separated, and then wrapped Bev up in his still-gangly arms. “Love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you too, babe. Call me when you land. And just to talk. Whenever.”

“I will.” He kissed her cheek too, squeezed her tight, and finally let her go.

Eddie gave Ben a perfunctory hug, awkward and stiff. He was not much of a hugger, but he did a better job with Bev. There was still the sense of unfamiliarity, of him wanting this but being careful about it too. Bev really loved him. “You call too,” she told him. “Especially as we go through this whole divorce process.”

“Yeah. And you’ll call us, right?” He looked between her and Ben. “We’re all gonna actually keep talking. Or texting.”

“One hundred percent,” Bev said.

And then the Uber got there, seven minutes early, and needed the code to be let through the gates. That of course meant Eddie was extremely triumphant and badgered Richie about time throughout the entire exit loading process. Bev and Ben watched from the door. They waved one last time, and then they drove off down the driveway. Bev got a notification when the car passed through the gate, another when the gate shut, and then she was officially alone with Ben, doors closed, no one within shouting distance.

Ben looked at her. “Are you sure you want me to stay longer?” he asked. No pressure, a genuine question.

“Absolutely,” Bev answered, and meant it with all her heart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this chapter has everything - a gotcha party, some nonsense with an encyclopedia, a gay comedy show, hurt/comfort, a proposal, poetic thoughts on birdwatching, a solemn exchange of keys, flashbacks to childhood, _A CHILD???_ it's gonna be great. thanks for coming on this journey with me. enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for Eddie's mom's Munchausen By Proxy, we get up close and personal in this final chapter

It was a little extra, maybe, to try and have a party less than two months from the events in Derry. Maybe a lot extra. How often did a group of adults need to see each other? Once a year, maybe, if they were lucky. She couldn’t expect them to drop everything, again, for something that wasn’t life or death.

Well, not death. It was life. A new life, actually. Stan and Patty finally had been approved to adopt, a beautiful month old baby boy with a name straight off Patty’s top name list. Jonah. Meaning _dove_ , peace, the end of a struggle. He had hair that looked like it was about to be curly and big brown eyes and he didn’t smile for days when they first got him. He looked at them suspiciously, no matter what they did. Then Stan got him a plush goldfinch that sang when you squeezed it, which Jonah was entranced by. He gurgled every time he heard it.

He was the center of their life, obviously, but that didn’t mean he would be the center of anyone else’s, Patty reminded herself. It was not unreasonable for the gang to have to miss the gotcha party.

She did so much reasoning with herself before they even invited anybody that getting the RSVPs was a real shock. With not even two weeks of notice, every single one of the Losers were coming.

“Good,” Stan said mildly, when she told him. “They were more than half of the guest list.”

“Stan!” she said.

“What? We dropped everything for them, they’re returning the favor. And when Richie needs to fill seats at a show, or Ben has a building opening or something, we’ll show up too.” Stan shrugged.

Patty sighed. “I’ll never get used to this, will I?”

“Well, dear.” Stan looked up from his crossword then. “I think you might have better luck getting used to it if you had a better idea of your worth.”

“Well,” Patty said, and didn’t know what else to say.

Ben showed up early, like an hour early, with a bag of ice and giant Jenga and a tireless cheer for anything asked of him. He listened to Stan talking about their brick patio, and set up chairs, and helped get Jonah dressed in the cutest little onesie that said _A Reel Catch._ All this with a smile, and a blush when she thanked him.

“Do your buildings have any big events?” Patty asked him while they were setting out the platters of food on the kitchen counter. “Openings, or something?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Ben said. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to go.”

Ben seemed to think that was a joke. “I’ll let you know when the next one comes up,” he said, clearly not expecting any follow through. And Patty thought she probably wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what they were worth.

Then, everyone else arrived basically at once. And _everyone_ came - the Losers, Stan’s friends from work, the birders in town, their friends from temple, and most of Patty’s book club - so it was a packed house. And yard.

Patty thought the best word for her next three hours was harried. She spoke to everyone for about two minutes, stood basically constantly, and lost track of Jonah several times including the entire last hour. She noticed the pile of gifts growing, despite her clear directions to bring only food and drink. Her memories of the party were scattered vignettes, none of which she could place in a timeline.

Stan showed the birders Jonah’s growing collection of plush birds. He’d just found a loon on Ebay, he was telling them. Mike had, at all times, a circle around him listening to his travel stories. Richie at one point was talking to their rabbi, which Patty saw basically in slow motion, horror movie style, from the middle of a conversation with Stan’s parents, but nothing went wrong. They just shook hands, in the end, and then Richie went inside.

She saw Richie another time too, when she and Stan discovered Jonah adored Eddie on sight. Eddie was less enthused; he stood stiffly still while Jonah reached for him, with the kind of expression that seemed more than a little panicked. “Uh,” he said. “What does this mean?”

“Do you want to hold him?” Stan asked.

“Not really,” Eddie said with great trepidation, but then Stan had to put out a fire - literally, on the grill - and Patty was scarfing some food down so Eddie got the baby. Eddie asked a lot of questions about how to hold him at first, but then the next time Patty remembered looking over at him, he seemed much more comfortable. Jonah was on his shoulder, asleep, and Eddie was talking with Bill and his wife looking for all the world like the most comfortable uncle.

Then Richie came over and Jonah woke up - probably related - and then Richie made Jonah begin to cry, just a sort of exploratory cry that Bill was able to immediately step in and stop. Eddie took Richie by the hand and led him away, saying something about Richie seeming desperate that Patty absolutely wanted to hear more about later.

Bev was so effortlessly charming at the party that Patty didn’t speak to her once until everyone else had left. It wasn’t like they ignored each other - they smiled at each other in passing, Bev touched Patty’s arm on the way to the bathroom and Patty moved Bev out of the way of the silverware drawer gently. It was just that Bev was such a good conversationalist that Patty wanted to let Bev impress everyone else, during the party. But when the party was over, Bev was the one who came to Patty with a drink. 

“Oh, thank you,” Patty said. “But I need to clean up.”

“Absolutely not,” Bev said, guiding Patty to a dining room chair. “You will be sitting, with your husband, while we clean up because you’ve done enough.”

Patty looked out the window to find Bill and Ben and Mike and Richie collapsing all the folding chairs and tables and putting them in neat piles. Eddie was on his way in with various leftover food. “How strict are you about food safety?” he asked Patty.

“I’d say decently strict,” Patty said. “Why?”

“Well, this dip has been outside at room temperature for like three hours, so I wouldn’t keep it,” Eddie said, inspecting the bowl. “But I don’t know if you plans for it or something.”

Patty smiled. “Get rid of it,” she said. “And anything else you’d consider questionable.”

“That’s gonna be most things,” Bev said with a smile, and she took a bowl from Eddie to help him.

“No!” Eddie protested. “Just some.”

Stan came downstairs from putting Jonah to bed. “Hey babylove,” he said to Patty, sitting next to her. He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“Gross,” Bev and Eddie said in unison, and Stan laughed.

Audra came in with some more platters of food. “What are we doing with these?” she asked.

“I’ll take care of it,” Eddie said, opening the tupperware cupboard. Patty thought she might should be surprised that he already knew where to find it, but she wasn’t. It was Eddie, after all.

“You want a drink?” Bev asked Audra. “I’m making them for everyone.”

“No, I’m not drinking,” Audra answered.

“Why, are you pregnant?” Eddie said.

Audra didn’t answer, so Patty looked over and found her smiling. “We aren’t telling anyone yet,” Audra said. “And I didn’t want to make this party about something else.”

It felt like life cooperated with the group of them, things all happening at once. They got to have a celebration at the end of another celebration, all of them sitting together inside while Bill finished the dishes. Patty held Stan’s hand, and listened to the group. To Richie, standing behind Eddie with his hands on Eddie’s shoulders and telling a story where he did every voice involved. And to Eddie, who interrupted Richie to correct the record every time Richie paused for breath, or Mike, who slyly cut in with the funniest innocent questions. Bill loved to tell a story too, he and Audra had their own entertaining routine just like Richie and Eddie, or like Patty would like to believe she had with Stan. She never felt as funny as she found them, but tonight she made herself notice how often she made these people laugh, and let herself believe she fit right in.

“Open your presents,” Bev suggested when the conversation hit a lull. “Or the ones from us, at least.”

“Oh, yeah, do that,” Bill agreed. “We want to see your faces.”

Patty and Stan shared a look: this was ominous to both of them. “Okay,” Stan said. “Which ones are yours?”

Everybody got up to get their gifts from the pile - which had gotten big enough to make Patty uncomfortable, frankly. “We don’t need all of this,” she said.

“No, but we love you, and want to show you,” Bev said, putting a large box in Patty’s lap. “Besides, this is useful.”

Patty gave her a look, sighed and smiled. “Well, if it’s useful,” she said, and opened the box. It was a diaper bag, minimal and made out of like, military-grade waterproof canvas in Patty’s favorite shade of olive. Obviously custom, with all the right pockets. “Oh, it’s perfect,” Patty said. “Thank you so much.”

And then she opened Eddie’s and Richie’s gifts, a parent-specific first-aid kit and gift cards to Patty’s favorite local delivery spot. Stan teased them over it, but Patty was too busy having a bit of a crisis over the cuteness of the baby clothes Ben had picked out, and the lovely set of books on parenting from Mike, and the state-of-the-art stroller from Bill and Audra that they wheeled out from a closet, a big cheerful bow on top. It was all so much, too much, and Patty had no idea what to do.

“You’re so…” Patty began, but when she looked up she made eye-contact with Richie, and who was looking uncharacteristically relaxed, and she had no idea what to say. How do you tell your husband’s best friends they’re yours too? “Really,” she said instead. “This is too much.”

“Please,” Bill said. “The two of you are the reason we’re still here. This is the least you deserve.”

“Absolutely,” Mike agreed. “We’re here for you. We’re here for you, however we can be.”

“Just maybe don’t ask Richie to babysit,” Bev added.

“Hey!” Richie objected.

“She’s right,” Eddie told him. “You were weird, and too desperate for him to like you.”

“I am _not_ ,” Richie said strongly, “desperate for anything.”

Eddie looked at Bev, who smiled sympathetically, and then he looked at Patty. “We’re a package deal,” he said.

“We’re aware,” Stan said. “Still. This is really nice of you guys, thank you.” And it was, he was right, but Patty still didn’t think she’d gotten across her point.

She tried again when everyone was leaving. This time she tried just talking towith Bev, who was quickly becoming one of her closest friends. They hugged goodbye, lingering in the embrace even with the plans to see each other again the following morning for a girls brunch. Bev smelled like a warm afternoon, and expensive perfume, and she held Patty so tight it was physically warming. “I love you,” Patty said. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, the bag is perfect.”

“Oh, darling,” Bev said, and pulled back to look at her. “Please. We’re family, you’re my sister. Nobody’s keeping count.”

Patty believed in Love, the big grand gesture kind. She had it, too, with Stan. She had smaller loves in her life as well, friends and family and acquaintances but she’d never found a way to believe that she should love herself the way she loved others. Maybe that was just how it was, being a woman in society, or maybe it was something she was supposed to work on - Stan believed the second, firmly, and so Patty had diligently done her best to change how she thought of herself, and the world, and her place in it. She wasn’t just here to give all she could to others, she was here to receive, she told herself, but never until now had she actually Felt That. Stan didn’t count, Stan was everything and almost a baseline of love, an easy constant she would never take for granted. This was different. A friend, looking at Patty and saying _I see you, you are essential_ , and allowing no room for debate.

It was then, that night, that Patty realized that being loved could be just as exquisitely difficult as loving, and was just as sacred a calling. As long as she could remember, Patty had given everything to the cause of the former. But there was no reason, Patty thought, that she couldn’t devote herself to both.

Stan, for being only twelve, was pretty cool. He and Richie had ended up being way better friends after everything at Niebolt house, because Stan wasn’t a baby like everybody else. He was quiet, but that just meant he let Richie be the funny one most of the time, and he always invited Richie home for dinner even though it was pretty clear his family didn’t think Richie was funny at all.

“You need to chill out,” he told Richie all the time.

“I would if I could, Stan the man,” Richie answered the last time he said it, and Stan had given him a look that seemed to take that the wrong way. Like, he looked sad for him, and that was pretty rude because Richie had been kidding. He didn’t know how to tell Stan he actually wouldn’t, because making other people laugh was proof they were looking at him at least. So instead he said something else. “See you later, when I come back to fu-”

“Beep beep, Richie, bye,” Stan said, and shut the door in his face.

It was hard to tell whether or not Stan was actually annoyed about something. Mostly you just had to wait. So Richie went home and went to bed and woke up and then, at like ten, Stan showed up on his bike. “Let’s go to the clubhouse,” he said. So he wasn’t too mad, then.

“Let me get my shoes.”

Richie was sitting on his front steps, tying his shoes and trying to make Stan laugh with a joke he’d heard on TV the other night, when Eddie rode up the driveway too.

Eddie was not cool. He had two fanny packs, and he always told them to slow down when they were biking down a hill, and he was the biggest buzzkill in the world. He was always making Richie’s life hell, and beep beeping his best jokes. “What’re you guys doing?” he asked, slowing to a stop on his tiptoes, leaning on his handlebars.

“Going to the clubhouse,” Stan said.

“Can I come?”

Stan looked like he was going to say no, so Richie spoke up first. “Sure. There’s a leech on your leg.”

Eddie shrieked to high heavens, and then glared at Richie with an obvious threat in his eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Why would you even look?” Stan said. “Do you go anywhere where there’d even be leeches?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said very patiently. “That’s why it’s scary.”

“Oh my god,” Stan grumbled under his breath, and left Richie on the steps to get his own bike.

Richie was done with his shoes anyways, so he got up. His bike was in the grass where he left it last night; he picked it up and hopped on, and found Stan already at the end of the street. Eddie, though, was waiting for him. “How’s your arm?” Richie asked.

“Fine. The same. Did you-”

Instead of listening, Richie took off as fast as he could. He heard Eddie groan, and then Eddie caught up by the end of the street. Nobody could move faster than Eddie when he wanted to. “You’re a dick!” he yelled at Richie as he passed him, and Richie grinned as he tried to catch up to Eddie and Stan.

They’d learned better than to try and ride their bikes into the forest, so they stopped at the edge. “Where’s that spot to hide them?” Stan asked. “Bill always finds it.”

“Over here,” Richie said confidently, and led the way to absolutely nothing. He was wrong. “In my defense, all these bushes look the same,” he said.

Eddie sighed and stomped his foot. “It’s a little deeper in, we have to walk.”

“No, we don’t”

“Yes we _do_ , Richie!”

In the end, Eddie was right, which he talked about for the entire walk to the clubhouse. How right he was, and how Richie should listen to him because he was just trying to help and he knew a lot more about these types of things but that wasn’t saying anything because Richie didn’t know anything. Stan ended up walking several steps ahead of them, so he was probably annoyed with them. But he’d get over it, and Richie didn’t mind Eddie talking. It was kind of like one of the wonders of the world, how fast Eddie could talk and for how long without taking a breath.

When Eddie did pause for thought, Richie cut in. “I thought you had to go to the doctor today.”

“We already went,” Eddie said, and held up his non-cast arm. “See?” There was a bandaid in the crook of his arm.

“What’s that?” Richie asked.

“I got blood drawn,” Eddie said shortly. And then he didn’t say anything else.

“Oh.” Richie glanced over at him. “Gross.”

“It wasn’t gross, there’s nothing wrong with my blood.”

“How do you know, don’t they have to do tests about it?”

Eddie gave him a look, a _Richie is Stupid_ look. “No,” he said. “I’m not sick, remember?”

“Right,” Richie said, though he’d mostly forgotten that.

Stan hauled up the clubhouse door. “Are you okay to be riding your bike and stuff?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to rest?”

“I’m fine,” Eddie snapped, and went down the ladder first. That meant he got to the hammock first, which Richie sighed about.

“Hey,” Stan said, and led Richie over to the stools Ben had made out of logs. “Sit down.”

Richie obeyed, so then he had to make a joke about it. “Anyfing else, guvnah?” he said, in probably the best British Voice he’d ever done.

“Jesus,” Stan sighed. “You really need this.” From his shirt pocket, he pulled out a joint. So that kind of cemented him as the coolest.

“Hell yeah,” Richie said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“What?” Eddie asked from the hammock. When no one answered him, he got up and came over to see. “Oh my god, is that marijuana?”

Stan gave Eddie the most unimpressed look. “Maybe you should have some too.”

“I’m not _smoking pot_ with you,” Eddie said, like they’d just asked him to cut off an arm.

“Okay,” Richie said. “Your loss, loser. What, does your mom hate weed like she hates everything else?”

“No,” Eddie said automatically, but Richie thought the answer was probably yes.

Stan also had a lighter, which he used to light the end of the joint and took a puff before he handed it to Richie. “Wham, bam, thank you Stan!” Richie said, to nobody’s amusement.

“Breathe in deep,” Stan said, watching Richie closely. “And hold it and count to three, and then let it out.”

Richie obeyed, his face feeling a little hot under Stan’s gaze. He coughed a little bit, but Stan didn’t seem to think that was weird, so Richie caught his breath and didn’t say anything. “Do it again,” Stan said, and Richie obeyed.

Eddie, who had just been watching both of them, sighed and pulled out his inhaler. “This is dangerous, guys.”

This time, Richie exhaled directly into Eddie’s face.

Instantly Eddie screamed bloody murder, until Stan kicked the stool he was sitting on. “Shut up, someone will find us,” he said, and took the joint back from Richie.

Richie was feeling a little different. He took a deep breath. His chest felt kind of funny, not in a bad way but strange. It took his brain a second to get to what he wanted to say. For some reason, he was just thinking about Eddie’s face in the moment before he blew smoke at him, the way Eddie was looking at him. “It’s not dangerous,” he said. “It’s fun.”

Eddie took a puff from his inhaler, didn’t hold it for long enough before letting his breath out, and took another. Richie wondered why he was even bothering, now that he knew he didn’t need it, but he didn’t get to saying it before Eddie spoke, very solemnly. “Guys. I think I’m allergic to weed.”

“It’s been ten seconds,” Stan said, a little bit of a smile on his face. “And you didn’t even have any. You definitely aren’t.” He passed the joint back to Richie. Actually, he seemed very cool about this whole thing, Richie was thinking. He wondered how Stan knew so much about it.

“You don’t know that, how could you know when even scientists don’t know everything about it yet? The most dangerous thing about it is how they haven’t done any research, actually,” Eddie was saying, and he sounded faster than ever but also, Richie could hear everything he was saying, and maybe the things he was not saying too, now that he was actually listening.

Eddie had just gotten his blood drawn for tests. His mom wouldn’t leave him alone about this stuff, even though they knew it was bullshit now, but Eddie didn’t talk about it, which was weird because Eddie talked about everything.

Stan had said something, Richie missed it. He just heard Eddie’s response. “Have you ever heard of emphysema? Or lung cancer, Einstein? You know hippies die from this stuff every day, right? There’s a war on drugs, guys, it’s serious.” Lectures like this were the reason Eddie was kind of the worst, Richie thought but didn’t say. It seemed like the kind of thing Eddie might take the wrong way like actually, not just for fun.

They smoked the whole thing. Stan even convinced Eddie to take a puff near the end, and although Eddie had a lot to say before, once he’d done it he fell quiet.

“Dibs on the hammock,” Richie said suddenly, as he thought of it.

“Oh, fuck no,” Eddie said.

So they both scrambled to get there first, and Richie did technically win but Eddie refused to acknowledge it. “My hand was in first,” he said, perched on top of Richie’s legs.

“It’s not about hands, it’s who got here first. And that was me. I’ll tip you out,” Richie added, a threat, and swung his weight back and forth to prove he’d do it.

Eddie was supremely unconcerned. “You’ll fall out too. Good luck.”

That was a good point. Richie didn’t want to push him out anyways. As annoying as Eddie was, Richie could still remember how he looked with It leaning over him, about to bite his fucking face off or whatever, and Richie had kind of decided then, that he didn’t want to ever see Eddie hurt like that again. Not if he could do anything about it. So he let Eddie wiggle his way into sitting next to him, and then he put up with Eddie toeing his tennis shoes off using Richie’s shoulder for leverage. Richie’s feet were hanging out over the edge, partially so Eddie wouldn’t complain about his shoes and also to balance them.

Usually, when they were sitting like this, there was something to complicate things. They were arguing about something, or at least reading comics. But right now they were just sitting here, and all Richie’s brain was doing was tallying up all the spots he and Eddie were touching; his calf and Eddie’s shoulder, his leg on top of Eddie’s cast, his knee in Eddie’s side, their butts next to each other, and then Eddie’s knee in Richie’s stomach, his other foot on Richie’s shoulder, his heel digging into Richie’s collarbone.

He looked up and found Eddie’s eyes on him, dark and intense, and Richie felt his cheeks heat up for whatever reason. “What,” he said.

“I’m high,” Eddie declared.

Stan snorted from his stool, and then dragged it closer to them. “Good,” he said. “Maybe you’ll shut up.”

“Rude,” Eddie said, but that was all he said.

“It’s not rude,” Stan said, and leaned back against one of the posts. “You two talk the most out of anybody I know, ever.”

“Maybe we’ve got more to say,” Richie suggested.

“You do not,” Stan told them.

Eddie grinned at Richie, and Richie couldn’t help it - he smiled at him too. “You definitely don’t,” Richie said to Eddie.

“Fuck you, I’ve got more to say than you do. I’m talking about factual information, and you’re just talking about about farts. And penises.”

Richie frowned. “I don’t! I talk about fucking, too. And boobs.”

“Right,” Stan said sarcastically.

“What!” Richie demanded of both of them.

“You don’t know shit about boobs,” Eddie said, deadly serious.

“Oh, like you fucking do?”

“I know enough to know you don’t know shit.”

Richie looked at Stan for support, but Stan was lighting up a second joint and did not seem to be listening. “Fuck you,” Richie said, which wasn’t a good comeback.

Thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to notice. “Are either of you sick?” he asked. “I can’t get actually sick now, that would be the worst.”

“You aren’t going to get sick from sharing a joint, Eddie,” Stan said. “There’s just no way.”

“My mom knows a guy-”

Stan cut him off. “-who got AIDS from touching a pole on the subway, yes, I’m aware. That sounds like bullshit, to me. How would that even work?”

“Viruses can linger on surfaces for twelve to thirty-six hours depending on ambient temperatures and other conditions,” Eddie said, a spiel that Richie had heard already like a dozen times.

“Yeah,” Stan said. “But isn’t it more likely they got it from gay sex or something?”

Richie went still, all of a sudden, eyes on his hands. He started picking at edge of his thumbnail. Eddie had stopped fidgeting too. “What do you mean?” Eddie said after a second.

“That’s the main way it’s spread,” Stan shrugged. “Gay sex, or like needles. If someone’s a drug addict. I read it in the paper.”

“Oh,” Eddie said after another pause that felt like forever.

“So maybe your mom knows a gay guy.”

“I don’t think so,” Eddie said. At the sound of his voice, Richie looked up and accidentally made eye contact with Eddie again. And Richie had been feeling pretty relaxed before, but then his heart started pounding. All of a sudden, he was so aware that they were touching so much, like too aware, and his cheeks felt hot.

Stan was watching Eddie. “Why? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Mom doesn’t like gay people,” Eddie said. Which was kind of shocking, because Richie didn’t know anybody with any opinions on gay people at all. Mostly, Richie only knew about gayness because of how Bowers and his gang called all of them fags when they beat the shit out of them. So it seemed like a lot of people didn’t like gay people, as far as Richie could tell.

“My dad doesn’t either,” Stan said. “So what?”

“What do you mean?”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t know gay people. It means nobody wants to tell them. And that’s even if the person knows they’re gay. My mom says a lot of people don’t even know.” Stan sounded very sure. “But she said that made them dangerous. Which I don’t think is true.”

The silence after that felt kind of drippy, like honey. Richie looked at Eddie, who was chewing on his lip and studying his lap. “How do you not know?” Richie said softly.

“How _do_ you know?” Eddie countered, and it sounded like a challenge.

“Well, most people really like girls, and want to be around them all the time. But some people feel that way about guys, I guess. And they want to touch them and kiss them and everything instead. That’s how you know.” Stan had his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Richie glanced up at Eddie, at his nose and eyelashes and the double chin he had from looking down. It was probably the drugs that made him look so long, that made him feel all jittery and weird about it, and that was making him sort of feel like maybe he couldn’t imagine liking a girl more than the way he liked sitting here with Eddie. Even though he was such a pain in the ass know-it-all, Richie sort of wanted him around all the time anyways.

This must’ve been the dangers of weed that Eddie was talking about. It was making Richie queer, for sure. That’s why he was even thinking about all the places Eddie was touching him, and he needed to stop because if Eddie knew he was thinking like this, he’d freak out and this time he’d have a reason.

“Weird,” Eddie said, his voice a little too loud, and then he wiggled his arm out from under Richie’s leg. But he didn’t push Richie’s leg off of him, he actually just sort of hugged it against himself.

“I’m hungry,” Richie said, instead of anything dumb like asking if Eddie was feeling the same weird way.

Stan snorted.

“You’re always hungry,” Eddie said.

“Well, right now I’m starving,” Richie countered, and he put on a vague sort of old-timey announcer Voice just to try and make this sound like more of a joke. Because Eddie didn’t sound like he was joking at all, and that was kind of scary.

Eddie just looked at him, unblinking, and said, “When’s the last time your mom remembered to make you dinner?”

Richie’s face was hotter than ever. “I don’t know, dude, when’s the last time your mom remembered to make me wear a condom?”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said without breaking eye contract. “Seriously, Richie.”

“Seriously none of your business,” Richie said, and started to struggle his way out of the hammock. This was all too much.

Eddie kept hold of his leg. “Stop,” he said. “Wait, I just want to talk about-”

“Just let me _go_ ,” Richie insisted, and twisted hard, and then fell out of the hammock and felt his foot connect with something hard. Then his head hit the ground, he saw stars, and for a second he just tried not to cry. Then he noticed Eddie was also on the floor too, one of his legs on top of one of Richie’s, and when Richie sat up he saw Eddie was holding his face. It was weird he was so quiet about it, when he screamed at the slightest thing. And then Richie noticed the blood dripping between Eddie’s fingers, and it registered that he’d kicked him in the nose.

“Oh my God,” Stan said, kneeling down next to Eddie.

“I’m fine,” Eddie said. He got a tissue out of his fanny pack, and held it under his nose.

Richie couldn’t look at him. He scrambled to his feet and went for the ladder. “That’s what you get,” he said over his shoulder, and sort of ran though the woods to get back to his bike. It was hard to see. The weed must’ve been making his eyes water too.

He biked straight to Bev’s house, for some reason. Probably because he didn’t want to bother Bill with this, when his family was still dealing with the whole Georgie thing, and he didn’t really know Mike or Ben that well. He didn’t know Bev either, sure, but she was cool, and didn’t ask questions.

“You want to go throw rocks into the quarry?” Richie said when Bev opened the door.

“Sure,” Bev said.

So they did that for a while. Then Bev had to go home, because of her curfew. “You want to hang out some more tomorrow?” she asked as they walked their bikes back.

“Sure,” Richie said. “I’ll come by.”

“Cool,” Bev said. It had been a couple weeks since everything with It. She looked a lot less like death, and her hair was starting to curl a little at the ends. Richie felt her eyes on him, and glanced over to find her smiling at him. “Y’know, you’re alright, when you shut up,” Bev said.

“Ditto,” Richie said, the tips of his ears warm. And it had been a while, the weed had definitely worn off, but he still didn’t feel the same way he’d felt with Eddie when he was looking at her.

He walked her to her front door, and then waited while she locked her bike to the bottom of the fire escape. After that was done, Bev turned back and looked at him. Her eyes were really blue, purplish in the sunset, and her freckles were darkening from their day out in the sun, and it seemed like if Richie was going to pick a girl to like, Bev would make sense. “Do you want to kiss?” Richie blurted out.

“What?” Bev raised her eyebrows, and then scrunched them into a frown “No. Do you?”

“No,” Richie said, and hated that he was telling the truth. She was beautiful like a painting, or the ocean. He didn’t want to touch her or anything. But somehow that just made him feel like a failure, so Richie didn’t think any more about it. Bev was cool. And he hadn’t kicked her in the face.

So they hung out for a while, just the two of them. Bev seemed to want out of her house almost as bad as Richie did. She didn’t complain when he suggested they do something dumb, like look for weird rocks in the river or build an elaborate enclosure out of sticks for a frog they found. She didn’t ask him questions about his parents, or bring weird packed lunches like Stan did. They’d skip lunch and fill up on the water fountain near the fairgrounds bathrooms, because it was coldest. Then, in the afternoon, when they were pink from the sun, Bev would drag Richie to the library, over to the sections he never looked at because he thought they were boring. He didn’t realize the encyclopedias had cool things in them, like explanations about sex stuff. They pulled a ton of volumes out, and Richie waited until Bev was engrossed in reading something in the M book to look up weed.

_Weed: See marijuana._

Fuck.

Then he had another idea, one he didn’t really think about but just did. The G book, near the beginning.

 _Gay: See homosexuality_.

So Richie got the H book because he’d gone this far, and he found the section, and read the whole thing. He wasn’t totally sure what the Greeks or Japanese had to do with any of this and he skimmed a ton of long paragraphs with long words he didn’t know, but there were a couple important things in here. First of all, apparently it was normal to be gay in tons of places. Some people were even happy they were gay. And second of all, he read about how some gays a million years ago would call each other “my lover” or “my boy”, and that made his heart feel too big for his chest but it also made him think about Eddie again. And that was kind of miserable. Eddie hadn’t tried to talk to him since the clubhouse.

“I’ll be busy this weekend,” Bev said, when they stopped outside her building. “Dad wants to go camping.”

“That’s fine. I’ve got other stuff to do,” Richie lied.

Bev squinted at him. “Is everything okay?” she asked then. “I know I’m not your first choice.”

“What?” Richie said. “Sure you are. You’re hot.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Maybe don’t try to say that again until you sound more like you mean it,” she said and headed for the door. “You can pretend all you want, Richie Tozier. But I know you’re not a pervert.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Richie said, and Bev grinned at him before she went inside. He smiled a little too, but then on his ride home he felt like his heart would beat out of his chest because the thing was, maybe he was. Just not in the way she meant.

The Tozier house wasn’t tense like Bev’s, or somber like Bill’s. It wasn’t really much of anything, actually. His dad was at work a lot, and his mom was asleep on the couch more often than not, a glass on the table or resting on her chest or sometimes on the floor. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, Richie knew that because he was a teenager and grown up now. They just had other things going on, and Richie could take care of himself.

He made himself dinner tonight, frying an egg up and then putting it between two slices of bread. There were still some Doritos left, so he had those too, and he ate over the sink so he wouldn’t have to deal with the dishes. More than anything, he wanted to remember Eddie talking about him never eating and be mad at him, he wanted to be able to feel good and right about how upset he got, but instead he was kind of sad. Being right alone was worse than being wrong.

The next day was Friday. Richie slept in as late as he could, since he didn’t have much to do. And, as an added bonus, by the time he went downstairs, Mom and Dad had made breakfast. There was some bacon and toast left over that Richie took back up to his room, and then he sat on the floor and read all the comics he hadn’t gotten to while It had been keeping them busy. He put in a tape of SNL and sat on the floor of his bedroom, pausing and writing down his favorite jokes. Eventually he made it to the part of the day where the sun was setting, and that was good, at least, because the day was almost done. But Richie couldn’t really imagine suffering through another day like this. He was thinking about doing something stupid, like trying to find Mike or Ben to hang out with tomorrow, when there was a knock on the front door.

Richie slammed his knee into the bannister going downstairs to get the door. Cue the swearing, of course, and he’d just felt a trickle of warm blood starting to drip down, but the moment he had the door open he forgot all about how he was bleeding because it was Eddie.

“Hey,” Eddie said. “Put your shoes on.”

“Where are we going?” Richie thought maybe he could sound a little less breathless, but it didn’t matter. Eddie was here.

“No questions,” Eddie said. He didn’t look mad. But it wasn’t always easy to tell how he was feeling from his face. Usually Richie counted on what Eddie said, but Eddie wasn’t really saying a lot right now either. He watched silently as Richie put his shoes on, and then led the way on his bike.

They went to McDonald’s. Eddie didn’t make a big deal over how Richie didn’t have a bike lock this time, even though he always did before. Richie knew all the points - about how Bowers could come and take his bike and then where would he be, how would he get home. But this time Eddie just locked both of their bikes with his lock, and put the key back in his fanny pack.

“I don’t have any money,” Richie began, and Eddie gave him a look that shut him up.

“I’m aware,” Eddie said, and unzipped his fanny pack. He pulled out five singles, and Richie saw a much thicker stack of money in there than he’d ever thought Eddie could have. Eddie saw him looking, because he said, “I save my allowance.”

“How much is your allowance?”

“A dollar a week.”

There was like fifty bucks in there. That was a lot of weeks. Richie gave him a look, and Eddie said, “I left most of it at home! Stop.”

That was missing the point totally but Richie stopped, only because Eddie was buying him food. Eddie ordered two fries and two quarter pounders and two apple pies but only one fountain drink. He gave Richie the cup, and in answer to Richie’s frown said, “It’s a scam. And there’s free refills.”

Such an Eddie thing to say. It felt normal. Richie took the cup and filled it to the top with Coke, and by then Eddie had the tray of all their food and he took it over to a table that Richie joined him at. They sat across from each other, and ate without talking about it. They shared their fries. Eddie only had a sip of the Coke and then wrinkled his nose and let Richie finish it.

They were down to the last couple fries. Richie was holding the cup and chewing on the straw without super thinking about it, looking at the speckled tabletop. He was a good kind of dazed, full and not sure when he’d be able to move again.

“Stan said it’s okay if you come over for dinner like basically any time,” Eddie said then.

Richie looked at him but didn’t totally get what he was saying. He didn’t need dinner, he’d just eaten. And then his face went hot again as he remembered what they’d argued about. “Whatever,” he said.

There was a fading bruise under one of Eddie’s eyes, in by his nose. That was probably Richie’s fault. “I would’ve come over sooner,” Eddie said. “But I was grounded.”

“For what?”

“For coming home with a black eye and a broken nose,” Eddie said crossly. “What do you think?”

“Did I really break it?”

“No,” Eddie said. “But you could’ve.”

Richie should apologize. He looked at Eddie, and Eddie looked back, his face serious. “She made you stay inside because I kicked you?” Richie asked.

“Yeah.”

He didn’t know a lot about Eddie - Richie was thinking about that now. None of them really did, even Bill because Richie had asked Bill about Eddie a couple days after everything with It. All Bill knew was that Eddie hadn’t been allowed to do anything until this summer, and that his mom didn’t like having people over. She always followed everybody with Lysol, and wouldn’t leave them alone for long.

And Richie looked at Eddie, and thought about how he hadn’t tried to argue with him, he just got him food and didn’t say a billion things about it. Maybe Eddie was actually pretty cool. Maybe that was why Richie hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, and wanting to be around him even after the drugs had definitely worn off.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,” Richie said, trying a variation of the British Voice.

Eddie frowned at him. “What?”

“Locked in the tower, y’know?”

“You’re so weird,” Eddie said. “Let’s go.”

Richie didn’t ask where they were going. It didn’t really matter.

This was definitely not a big deal. Richie was beyond stage fright, he’d played hundreds of places and most of them were bigger than this. There was something about doing his own material, though, that had Richie more nervous than ever.

Eddie was being relatively understanding, for him. They were holding hands, on the walk from the train to the club, that was kind of a new thing. And Eddie was entertaining Richie’s panicked catastrophizing more than usual, which basically meant at all. Though, he hadn’t really seen him so panicked before either, probably.

“Rich,” Eddie said, interrupting.

“What? Too far?” Richie asked without really knowing what he’d said.

Eddie did not answer. “They’ll like you,” he said. “People like you when you’re lying to their faces, these people will like you being yourself.”

That was optimistic. “You don’t know that,” Richie said. “No one’s seen me being myself.”

“I have,” Eddie pointed out.

“You’re a statistical anomaly. None of them have been in love with me for thirty years later.”

“You’ve been talking with Stan too much,” Eddie said, with such genuine annoyance that Richie had to drop everything and laugh for a second. Eddie was always so pleasantly surprised to make him laugh, it was kind of one of the cutest things about him, his bright, brief smile when Richie laughed. “You’ll be fine,” Eddie said. “Because I’m here.”

That was a pretty good point. “I’ll be finer when I get a drink. And then when I get something greasy and fried once I’m done.”

“There you go,” Eddie said. But as they approached the block the club was at, his hand tightened on Richie’s, and Richie knew he was more scared than he was letting on, too. This was their first time going to an intentionally gay place. That was factoring into Richie’s fears too, some vague sort of idea that he might get turned away for not being gay enough. That’d probably be fair, since they weren’t really out and also, Richie had done more hurt than he could ever hope to undo. He knew all of that. He was very ready to answer for all of that, he had prepared apologies.

There was something kind of comforting about the gross narrow steps they had to descend to get to the door. The bartender was a woman in a cutoff tank top with a lot of tattoos. Richie scanned the room; the crowd was younger than he usually attracted. Lots of weird-colored hair and flannel shirts.

“I’m gonna go find the emcee,” Richie said.

“Okay,” Eddie said decisively. “I’ll get us drinks.”

Richie almost wanted to kiss him, but they hadn’t done that in public yet so he just squeezed his hand and let go. He put his hands in his pockets, as he went in search of this Chris person. _Blonde hair and clipboard_ , the email had said, and he found her up by the stage talking with a person with curly hair and a nose piercing. Fuck, Richie was too old and lame and stupid to be here.

“Hey,” Chris said, pointing at him. “Richie?”

“Yep. That’s me.”

“Chris, nice to meet you.” She leaned in to give him a hug. “So you’ll be on in the middle of the pack. Two before you, three after.”

“Great.” The absolute easiest, most middle of the road possibility.

She was looking at him closely. “You’re aware this is a queer comedy club,” she said.

Ah. So she knew who he was. “Yeah,” Richie said.

“Okay. I’ve heard your name before. My dad’s a fan of you.” She waited a beat. “Which is not a complement.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Internalized homophobia is a bitch, what can I say.” Bad, dumb, lame. “No, really,” he added. “I’m prepared for any, y’know. Heckling or anything. I totally deserve it.”

“Fuck that,” Chris said. “We’re not letting that happen. I’m just making sure that you didn’t book this show on accident.”

Richie’s stomach dropped out. Was not any easier to say this shit, but he did it. “Not an accident,” he said. “I’m actually gay. And I’m, uh. Here working on some material about this. Coming out. So.”

Chris regarded him. “No shit.”

“Yeah. My partner’s here with me, actually. Moral support.”

“Oh that’s awesome, okay. Backstage in five. Break a leg.” Chris turned to talk to somebody else, a girl with a dark bob who looked very hip and immediately made Richie panic all over again. He went to find Eddie.

Eddie was at the bar, handing over his card. Richie leaned next to him. “Which one of these is mine?” he asked.

“The whiskey sour,” Eddie said.

That did sound good. Richie had a sip. “What’d you get?”

“Vodka cranberry. Thank you,” Eddie added to the bartender, and Richie watched him write in a forty percent tip. “So what, should we get a table?” he asked.

“You can,” Richie said. “I’ll be backstage, and then I’ll come back here after. I’ll need a drink.”

“Then I’ll wait back here,” Eddie said, and had a solemn sip of his drink. “Do all gay people die when they hit thirty?” he asked then.

Richie was relieved to laugh. “I know, right?” he said. “Hopefully they’re all just late. Or maybe it’s fucking… Teen Night or something.”

Eddie nodded. It had been a while since they’d been somewhere in public like this, like at An Event. To be more precise, this was the first time, not counting the couple of shows Eddie had accompanied him to in LA. But they hadn’t been openly together for that. So it was new, and it was kind of funny how serious Eddie was acting. Richie had forgotten that this was what Eddie was like, if he didn’t know you.

“Well,” Eddie said at last. “You can always just talk about how old you are. That’s funny.”

“Your idea of funny is not totally in line with reality all of the time,” Richie said.

Eddie shrugged. “Makes _you_ laugh,” he retorted, and that was a pretty good point. Richie had to give him that.

“You know your audience,” Richie said. “Unfortunately most of my audience might as well be fucking aliens. I’ve never seen people like this before and I have no idea what they want.”

“Okay,” Eddie said patronizingly. “Sure you don’t.”

Richie gave him a look. “Sure I don’t,” he repeated. “Yeah, what am I afraid of.”

Eddie had a lot of reactions on his face then, but he was in the middle of a drink so there was a bit of a delay where all he could do was impotently glare. “Rich,” he said when he could. “They want to laugh. And they want to feel good about being gay. Or whatever else they are.”

“Well shit,” Richie said, because that was another good point.

“Besides,” Eddie said then. “You’re definitely not any less funny than you were when you were fourteen, or at those shows in LA, so at least I won’t leave you over this.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Stop,” Eddie rolled his eyes.

Richie downed the rest of his drink. “I’m going,” he said. “See you after the fact. If I don’t have a heart attack and die onstage.”

“I know CPR,” Eddie said with no hint of sympathy.

God. Richie was in love with him.

Watching the kids before him from backstage was its own kind of torture. They were all so funny. Chris was great, she was friendly with everybody and super chill. The first kid up was a tall black guy with a Southern accent who was possibly the funniest person alive - he went onstage to a totally cold room and at the end of his ten minutes everybody was engaged. They cheered for him when he got off the stage, and Richie was despondent. The second kid up was a girl with a round, sweet face, who told the most deadpan ridiculous jokes that got laughs mostly by surprise. That was the act Richie would have to follow. Fuck.

When it came time to actually do it, tell the jokes and be funny, Richie kind of zoned out, so totally present that his short-term memory was completely wiped. He definitely did the bits he’d been working on. The one thing he was able to remember as he got off stage was which one got Eddie to laugh. _In retrospect, all the your mom jokes I told were a sort of desperate attempt to closet myself. But also in my defense, the guy I had a crush on didn’t have a dad, so. Really it’s his fault I didn’t figure this out sooner._ It was definitely not the funniest thing he said.

As he got off the stage, he heard the girl after him, the one with the bob that had scared him before the show, say, “Well, this is awkward. Not just having to follow a guy that looks like the father I never knew… but also, um apparently he’s gay? Hold on, is that actually my dad? We’re gonna have a lot to talk about.” The room laughed.

Eddie was waiting for him, leaning back against the bar. He watched Richie approach him with a little bit of a smile on his face. And, when Richie was close enough, he pulled Richie down by the edge of his jacket and kissed him. Firm, a few seconds that made Richie forget and then remember how to breathe. “Good job,” Eddie said, and let him go.

“I don’t remember any of it.”

“They didn’t like your joke about Night Court.”

Richie sighed, but he really was just so pleased. It had never been like this before either, when he had somebody he was with at a show. It had always been kind of never totally real. Everything was ruined by the clear sense that he was the star and they were thinking about it, so he’d be thinking about it. Eddie was actually making him less nervous, though, less obsessed over how it went because Eddie genuinely didn’t give a shit.

He leaned next to Eddie at the bar. “Night Court’s getting cut, for sure,” he agreed, and Eddie nodded.

The last two kids were funny too, a short girl with half her head shaved who loved telling the dirtiest jokes possible in her gentle little voice, and a guy who got some real glee out of talking about blowing other dudes in his frat. Eddie snorted a couple times at him, which made Richie weirdly jealous. The weird thing was being jealous at all, given that Eddie and him were the surest thing in the world. But like he’d only made Eddie laugh once, and now all of a sudden he had a real reason to keep working on this shit - not just to get better at it but also, because Eddie would be watching.

Was this what it was like, Richie wondered, to be passionate about your job and life and people in it?

When the show was over, they were going to leave. That was the plan. But then Eddie got Richie another drink and told him to sit down and relax. “Just breathe, for a second,” he said. “We don’t need to flee the scene.”

So Richie sat down on a barstool and Eddie perched on the seat next to him and started telling him all the other jokes that hadn’t worked. It was fun. Richie’s heart was recovering.

Someone tapped on Richie’s shoulder, and he turned. It was a couple of the other comics, bob girl and Chris. He needed to do better with names. “Hey,” Richie said dumbly.

“Hi,” bob girl said. “How old are you?”

Fuck, what was her name. “Forty,” Richie answered.

“Wow,” she said. “So you could actually be my dad.”

“He could not,” Eddie said. “He didn’t have healthcare until a month ago and his favorite food is Doritos. He’s not fit to parent anyone.” He stuck his hand out. “Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie thought a billion things in the moment after that. Should they be holding hands? Was it weird that they weren’t? Maybe the girls wouldn’t think they were gay. Well, but he had just done a whole set about how gay he was, and he mentioned Eddie more than once. It was probably a safe bet to assume these people knew he was gay. And that was a good thing.

“Hi. Eve.” They shook hands, her awkwardly and Eddie deadly serious. Chris introduced herself too, receiving another Eddie handshake, and then Eve had a question. “Are you a comedian too?”

Eddie snorted. “No.”

“He’s funnier than me, right?” Richie said, with a sigh. “Giving me a complex.”

“It’s good for you,” Eddie said.

Chris was smiling a little, watching them. “You mean there are people out there who _don’t_ need the attention of hundreds to keep their self-esteem afloat?” she said.

“I only care about the attention of one person,” Eddie said. 

Richie nodded. “Ryan Reynolds, we’ve discussed it.”

The girls laughed, and Eddie smiled at Richie, and Richie felt fucking great. “Hey,” he said. “We’re going to get some sort of fried potato product, you guys want to come?”

Eve and Chris looked at each other, and something clicked for Richie. They were together. Okay. “Sure,” Chris said. “Let’s do it.”

Was this gay friends? Did Richie have possible gay friends, here? Could he even be friends with someone more than a decade younger than him? Maybe they weren’t gay, he thought then, maybe they were bisexual or something and if he said gay they’d be upset. God. This fucking sucked. Richie was ready to move to Antarctica if one thing went slightly wrong.

The girls picked the place, some spot with tons of tables outside and a long line that Richie immediately trusted. He looked at Eddie while they were in line. “Gonna get anything?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but didn’t say no. Then he wrapped his arm around Richie’s arm, pressing his cheek against Richie’s shoulder. It was more than usual for him, in public. But maybe this was why gay people did shit together, Richie thought, knowing there were other people around you who were safe. Or, maybe he was bored.

“So wait,” Eve said, turning around to talk to them. Chris turned too, leaning on the wall. “Your whole brand is like. Larry the Cable Guy mixed with high school bully, but you’ve been gay the whole time.”

“I’ve… yes,” Richie said. “Arguably. Not out, or anything.”

“So when did you two meet each other? Because you-” she was addressing Eddie “-were saying something about middle school on the walk over here.”

“We called him Trashmouth in middle school,” Eddie agreed. “Yes.”

“We’ve been best friends since then,” Richie said when Eddie didn’t explain further. “Except for like twenty-five years where we didn’t talk.”

Eve blinked. Chris spoke up. “What happened there?”

“Uh, well he moved away,” Richie said. “And wouldn’t give me his new address.”

“You said you didn’t want it! You said Delaware is the most fucking boring place in New England,” Eddie objected.

“It is,” Richie said. “I was right. And then I moved to Chicago like a year or two later, and that was kind of it. We couldn’t talk.”

“Life pre-Facebook,” Eve said wisely. “Tough.”

Richie liked her. He could also feel Eddie rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he said, to keep the peace. “So. We went back for a reunion, and I came out. Under duress. And like three days later Eddie told me he was in love with me and had been since we were thirteen, so.”

“I only said that because you wouldn’t,” Eddie said. He was still holding Richie’s arm, right up next to him. “It was pretty obvious you were going to agree.”

“Still,” Chris said, with a bit of a frown. “Jesus.”

“It was intense,” Richie agreed. “Not super sure why I’m telling you guys all of this, I’m sure you don’t need to hear how two decrepit corpses got their acts together.”

“Don’t be dramatic. We’re barely middle-aged,” Eddie said.

“So sad you’re going to be dead soon,” Eve said, deadpan.

“Oh, when we only just rekindled our familial bond,” Richie said with a sigh, and Eve laughed. “Tragic.”

“I cry every time,” Chris said, which Eve found funny.

Richie didn’t get it. He shifted as they moved forward in line, twisting his wrist to snag one of Eddie’s hands in his and interlocking their fingers. “So, yeah,” he said. “That’s us. How about you? What’s your… deal?”

“Uh.” Eve smiled. “Well. No dad, as I mentioned. Bisexual. Stayed here after college and started working at a couple different magazines. Writing _lady jokes_. And… yeah. That’s pretty much it.”

“She’s being modest, she goes viral on twitter every couple days,” Chris said.

“Oh, that’s awesome.” Richie thought about mentioning that he’d gone viral too, but he thought better of it almost instantly. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. And Eddie squeezed his hand, quiet, so maybe he was thinking something similar to that.

It was their turn at the counter, then. Eve and Chris went first, and then Eddie stepped up to the counter. “Hi, can we get, uh. Two fries, and a kale salad, and crispy chickpeas?” He got his wallet out, and at Richie opening his mouth Eddie said, “Stop it, I’m buying, congratulations on your show.” So that was that.

They sat outside for like three hours, talking with the girls and each other. Richie walked away with both of their contact info, and a promise to perform again next month, and most importantly he walked away with Eddie. Like, he and Eddie were making friends and doing shit as a couple. This was fucking spectacular. Or it was for him, at least, and then he noticed Eddie wasn’t really doing a ton of the talking, he was listening to the three of them and watching them. And Richie knew, when Eddie was quiet it was sometimes the sign of something wrong, so he kept throwing things to him, jokes they had well-worn ruts for. Eddie would be himself when he talked, he’d just fall quiet again after. So Richie told himself it was fine, Eddie was probably just super bored and too nice to try and end this early. 

“Did you have fun?” was the first thing Richie said when they were alone, waiting for their Uber.

“Yeah.”

“Like really, though?”

Eddie looked at him with a little bit of an annoyed smile. “Why do you think I wasn’t having fun?” he asked.

“No reason, I’m just checking. This was kind of my work thing and it went on way longer than we planned on, and I don’t know! I don’t know.”

“We had a great time,” Eddie told him.

“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know why I need you to fucking tell me that.” It’s not like his emotions weren’t real until Eddie acknowledged them. That was stupid.

The Uber got here, and they climbed in the back together. The driver wanted to talk, so Eddie and Richie obliged but Richie kept glancing at Eddie. Eddie wanted to talk too, and Richie couldn’t wait to hear it. So the twenty minute drive kind of felt like forever, until they got out and then in the same moment Eddie started talking. Finally. “Remember when we were kids and we’d be hanging out with everybody?”

“Which time?”

“Well. All the time, but specifically before we knew each other better, y’know. Not the sleepovers but like, the first summer in the club house.”

“Yeah,” Richie confirmed.

Eddie shrugged. “I thought you thought I was the most annoying person alive for a solid two months. You liked Bill and Stan way more. And even Bev.”

“I liked Bev differently,” Richie said with great Meaning.

“No, I get that now, dork,” Eddie said with a little smile. He copied Richie’s go-to pose, putting his hands deep in his pockets, and faced him head on. “But I really thought… I know it isn’t true now, so I’m totally fine even if it was kind of true back then but I was pretty sure you didn’t like me, at all. And we were hanging out because of just pity for It breaking my arm.”

“What?” Richie frowned. “How’d you reach that conclusion?”

“I don’t know, you talked so much to everybody else but then you’d let me go on for like, an hour about infectious diseases and wouldn’t interrupt me.” Eddie shrugged. “You wouldn’t argue.”

“Literally, what the fuck are you talking about? We argue the most of basically everyone I’ve ever known.”

“ _I know_ , dumbass! There’s a reason I’m talking in the past fucking tense! Can you let me finish?”

Richie huffed out the deepest sigh and shut his mouth. And Eddie just smiled at him, before he kept talking. “I thought that,” he said. “Before I figured out that what you said didn’t matter. Remember that whole conversation we’ve had?”

“Yes,” Richie answered when Eddie prompted him with an eyebrow raise, and then shut his mouth again. “I am familiar.”

“So,” Eddie said. “What I’m saying is, it made me think of that.”

“Of thinking that I hated you.”

Eddie smiled. “Okay, no. Fuck. It made me think about how it felt once I figured things out, after those first few months or whatever. And how, like. Okay. You talk to people and they love talking to you. You’re really charming. And that’s awesome. But also not the point of this, I’m not talking about that.”

“So what are you talking about, Eds?” Richie said, and took a half step closer.

“I don’t know,” Eddie sighed. “I was trying to figure it out on the way.”

“So you _were_ bored,” Richie said.

“Fuck you. Let’s go inside, it’s too late to just stand here.” He climbed the steps to their building and held the door open for Richie. “I actually haven’t stayed up this late in years,” he said, as he unlocked the door.

Richie snorted. “I’m up this late all the time. Y’know, with all the fucking. Like when I’m fucking dads.”

Eddie looked over at him, hands pausing for the moment. “You’re really gonna commit to the dad thing now?” he asked, almost just curious.

“In more ways than one,” Richie grinned even though that barely meant anything, and Eddie rolled his eyes and let them in.

Their apartment was cozy. Living room with a big comfy couch, kitchen with a table to eat at, and a little hallway back to their bedroom and bathroom. A linen closet Eddie had organized, and a plant they were both sure they’d kill. Not as big as Richie’s house, duh. Also, smaller than Eddie’s place with Myra, he’d let slip when they were moving in. He still didn’t talk about her a lot, and he fucking _never_ mentioned his mom, but Richie was being patient. It had only been two months, after all.

They had habits now too, in the apartment they shared. Richie got the bathroom first because he never took as long, and in theory they’d switch out after he was done but in actuality he ended up sitting on the toilet talking to Eddie throughout his elaborate tooth routine more often than not. Tonight, though, Eddie followed him into the bathroom after pulling his jeans off. He sat on the toilet and watched Richie putting toothpaste on his toothbrush. “Have a critique of my technique?” Richie asked. Eddie shook his head, so Richie put the toothbrush in his mouth and started brushing. He hit Eddie’s timer too, pre-set for two minutes, and it all started counting down.

“Okay,” Eddie said. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

Richie looked over at him. Eddie was looking at the bathmat.

“I wasn’t bored,” Eddie said, his voice a little weird. “I was just watching you. That’s what it reminded me of, when we were kids I was just… always fucking watching you. Trying to tell if you hated me, at first, but then once I knew you didn’t, I just… I don’t know. I like looking at you. And it’s so awesome seeing you kill it, because I know how much you wanted this. So. I was basically the furthest thing from bored.”

Fuck brushing his teeth. Richie immediately spit and rinsed his mouth out so he could answer. “You know I was joking before, right?” he said. “Like. I don’t need hundreds of people to like me as long as you do.”

Eddie’s answering smile was huge, even through him fighting it down. “I had a hunch,” he said. “So I think Eve’s gonna ask to be adopted.”

They talked through the rest of getting ready for bed, debriefing from the evening, and then they kept going for a while once they were already in bed. Eddie always took over talking at night, ever since they were kids. He’d take advantage of his captive audience and Richie used to say he didn’t mind because Eddie would put him to sleep in five seconds flat. He always stayed up to listen though. He still did now. Even when he’d sort of lost track of what they were talking about.

“I’m just saying it’s unlikely it’s a straight up choice in any apocalypse scenario, like obviously there will be other factors but in the universe where we have to pick, though, I’d choose a bow and arrowbecause it’s silent and has reusable ammo, and that’s the biggest advantage ever, y’know?” Eddie was saying, and Richie made a vague sort of agreeing sound but was actually about to fall asleep. This was soothing.

His brain was tired and making connections that he hadn’t before. He thought about Eddie quiet with his mom because he was scared, compared to Eddie now who couldn’t be shut up. And he thought about sleepovers they had, like how everybody would always yell at Eddie to shut the fuck up when it was three in the morning and he couldn’t stop talking. Bill wouldn’t yell, he’d already be asleep, but everybody else. So Eddie would just whisper to Richie, and Richie would nod until Eddie stopped talking or his eyes closed. And Richie thought about Eddie being quiet earlier, giving Richie his full attention.

Maybe that was what love was, in a way, giving somebody permission to be everything in your brain. In a way, that felt too easy. Eddie had been everywhere in his head since the beginning.

“Hey,” Richie said once he remembered where his mouth was.

“Yeah?”

“I never hated you.”

“Stop,” Eddie said, eye roll in his voice.

“I mean it.”

“I was pretty fucking annoying, you probably-”

Richie was waking back up. “Nope. Not for a second. I didn’t know you, and then I did know you and I had to pretend I wasn’t totally obsessed with you.”

“You don’t have to…” Eddie hesitated.

“I’m not, I’m serious. You and me, dude.”

Eddie was silent for a second. “Whatever,” he said, and then moved closer to put his arm over Richie’s chest. “I definitely did hate you, though, you were so annoying.”

“That’s fair,” Richie agreed solemnly. “I was.”

“Only for a little bit.”

“Are you sure?”

Eddie waited for a second. “Well,” he said, and Richie laughed. “I am sure,” Eddie continued. “But if I was any other person alive and not the only person who was secretly in love with you, it would’ve been a serious-”

“Yes.”

“-like, hatred for the ages.”

“That makes sense.”

“You really lucked out.”

“I really did.”

Eddie pulled himself closer. “Okay. We’re going to sleep now.”

“Yes,” Richie agreed, and yawned. “Before I slip up and tell you about all the other people who were secretly in love with me, too. Starting with your dad. Great news. I found him. More great news. He’s-”

“Richie, you’re such a dick. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Five minutes ago you were all in on apocalypse planning and now you want to sleep?”

“It tired me out.” Eddie had a smile in his voice.

“I changed my mind,” Richie said. “Unfortunately. Hate to break it to you, but. I do, and have always, hated you.”

“Shut up. Go to sleep.”

Richie fell asleep smiling.

It was always a relief when Mom went to bed. Eddie could stop worrying about how everything he said would make her think he needed some more medicine. That was kind of the exhausting thing about being home. He’d always fuck up and say something that made her freak out and then he didn’t even have anyone but himself to blame for the spoonfuls of whatever digestive thing she gave him that made his stomach squeeze up like a tube of toothpaste, or the pills that made him feel dizzy and his heart go fast, or the other pills that left him trapped in bed, half awake. At least when she went to bed, he knew it wouldn’t get worse for sure, and he didn’t have to weigh making her mad against whatever he did. And now especially, now that they were moving in a couple weeks, and he wouldn’t be able to see anybody - Stan or Richie or _anybody_ \- ever again maybe, Eddie really didn’t want to make her mad.

He’d learned about that, the move, just a couple days ago. After a long day with all the Losers at the clubhouse, Eddie came back with a scrape on his leg, from falling down the ladder laughing at something Richie said. Mom, of course, was convinced that he’d go septic and die. She wouldn’t listen no matter how many times Eddie told her what Stan had told him, that there were no flesh-eating bacteria in this part of the world. Instead she basically washed it out with rubbing alcohol and Eddie bit through his lip trying not to make a sound because if he let her know how bad it hurt she’d give him a pill and he’d probably sleep through the next twelve hours. He didn’t want to do that, they were going to head down to the river tomorrow morning and Bill and Mike were going to try and catch a fish.

But Mom noticed now, when Eddie didn’t take the pills. She’d started making him do it while she watched. So Eddie took it and then he made himself throw up so he could get up in time, but Mom found him doing that and she knew that whatever she’d given him wasn’t supposed to make him throw up, apparently, because then she decided there was something new wrong with him. Something that meant he had to stay in bed anyways.

He heard when the Losers came to the door the next day. It sounded like Mike and Stan, which was probably a smart move if they were trying to convince Mom of something. Eddie listened from his bedroom door. He didn’t hear Richie.

Obviously Mom wouldn’t let him go with them, Eddie knew that never was going to happen in a million years, but he was still disappointed when they left without him.

Mom came up with lunch later on, some soup that was mostly water and some sort of powder she mixed up into a weird greyish drink. She said that it would make him feel stronger, never mind that it did the exact opposite, but Eddie’s options were drink it and feel like shit or not drink it and make her upset. Not good options. He went with the second one, at least until Mom said, “This is why we’re moving. Those children are such a bad influence.”

Eddie’s guts went ice cold. “What?” he said.

“In a few weeks, we’re moving,” Mom said, like that was already information he had. “I told you.”

“No you didn’t. We can’t just leave.”

“We can,” she said. “I found a new job in Delaware.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Eddie said. “I have friends for the first time ever, we can’t move.”

Mom was mad that he swore; her mouth went all small, and Eddie knew he’d fucked up if he was trying to convince her but this was so _much_ , so wrong that he wasn’t sure what he could even say. “This is exactly why we need to get you away from them,” she said, and left with the rest of lunch.

Eddie sat there, staring at the wall with his stomach growling, and told himself he was _not_ going to cry. He was almost fifteen, and definitely too old to cry so much. It was just that Bev had left two months ago, and she’d promised to write and call once she got to Seattle and then she didn’t do that at all, and Stan had told them something that was weird about his dad, how whenever his dad got back from long trips driving a truck to Charleston or something, he’d come back and almost forget that he had a wife and kid. That was weird but not the end of the world. It definitely wasn’t possible that people left Derry and forgot about it. That definitely wouldn’t happen with him.

He should’ve just taken whatever she gave him. That made her mad, that’s why they were moving. But knowing he was fine and still taking a bunch of bullshit medicine was not something he could do either. This was impossible, he didn’t know how he was supposed to make a good choice when the only options were bad. So he stayed in bed for the next two days and didn’t protest whatever Mom had him eat or take or drink. After like a day, she calmed down so he started actually feeling better. But in another way he didn’t feel better at all. Dread felt worse than anything, even the flu. The only thing he could think of was, he had no idea how to tell anybody. That was kind of why he stayed in bed even once he felt better.

So it was kind of the worst thing in the world when Richie showed up.

Eddie was programmed by now to respond to the knock on the window frame the same way every time, as quick as he could. He threw the blankets off, hopped up, and lifted the window. “This isn’t safe,” he said, like he said every time.

“Then let me in,” Richie said like always, and Eddie did. He pulled the screen up, and Richie got himself up over the window frame while Eddie locked his door. “Your room smells like barf,” Richie said as he shut the screen. “Were you really sick?”

“Yeah,” Eddie lied. He’d learned to lie to Richie about these things - and then to everybody, so they wouldn’t tell Richie because Richie got super worried. It was weird to see Richie seriously upset. And it was scary, too. Eddie thought Richie might do something dumb, like tell a teacher.

But the scariest part was that he couldn’t tell if the lying even worked. Richie just looked at him, his eyes big behind his glasses, and for once he didn’t have something stupid to say about Eddie’s immune system or hypochondria sounding like an STD or whatever. So Eddie seriously suspected Richie knew he wasn’t sick, but then he couldn’t figure out why Richie wouldn’t just say it. Call him on it. Richie loved to call him on things, it was so obnoxious.

“Sick how?” was all Richie said.

“Like, throwing up and dizzy and stuff.” Eddie’s legs were still a little shaky. This was the most he’d stood in a couple days.

“What about your leg?” Richie put his bag down on Eddie’s bed.

Fuck. With everything else, Eddie had forgotten about his leg. He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled up his pajama leg. The scrape was scabbed over, not infected or anything. It barely even hurt anymore, it just felt kind of tight and stiff.

“Damn,” Richie said.

Eddie didn’t know how to take that. “It’s fine,” he said.

“I know it’s fine,” Richie said. “Since you’re walking. How do you feel now? Are you still sick?”

“Uh,” Eddie began nervously. Two bad options again, either admitting it was fake and getting into that whole argument again or saying he was sick and making Richie leave. But before he could talk Richie climbed in bed directly next to him and started moving Eddie’s pillows around. “No, I think I’m getting better,” Eddie said quietly.

“Good because…” Richie extracted from his bag one McDonald’s bag. “I’m here to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” he said, in the stupidest gangster Voice ever. The bottom was translucent with grease, and Eddie knew a lot about heart attacks and cholesterol but he didn’t give a shit. This was maybe the last time he’d ever get to do this, eat this shitty food with Richie in his bed, and Eddie wasn’t going to spend a single second worrying about it.

“Have you ever even met one Italian person that sounds like that?” Eddie demanded. “I mean seriously. That doesn’t sound like any human being alive.”

Richie just grinned into the bag, and then filled Eddie’s lap with paper-wrapped burgers and a large fry. “I got a couple extra things,” he said with a shrug, his face a little pink.

Eddie would probably tease him about that any other day, but now he’d just remembered he was starving so he didn’t give Richie any shit. They ate, sitting next to each other, and then Richie packed up all the trash into his bag to take with him so Eddie wouldn’t get caught.

It always felt a little crazy, the first time he actually _ate_ after being sick. Like he could feel energy surging through him and also he never wanted to move again. They ended up on the floor on their backs, next to each other. Eddie’s feet were only at Richie’s ankles, he determined when he kicked Richie for a really bad pun. Richie was still getting taller every day, it was infuriating. And Eddie would be gone in a couple weeks and then he’d never know how much taller Richie would get.

“Eds,” Richie said, and whacked him in the arm.

“Ow,” Eddie said crossly. “What?”

“I said can I stay the night?”

Oh. They hadn’t done that for a while. Richie used to come over like once a week, basically, but that had stopped. Eddie wasn’t sure why. He thought it’d be weird to ask, so he never had, but his room didn’t feel like somewhere he wanted to be unless Richie was in it. Just to be normal, though, he waited for a second before he answered. “I guess. Mom’s not asleep yet, though.”

“I know the routine,” Richie said. And that was true, he did. He knew a lot and that was why Eddie couldn’t tell him the truth abut the moving. Not under any circumstances. “I brought the new Spider-man,” Richie said then. “If you want to read it.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “But you have to wipe your hands off before you read mine.”

“Whatever,” Richie said, but he did what Eddie said.

Sitting here with him, Eddie tried to just have fun, he really did. He wanted to just have a good time and worry about everything later but his stupid brain wouldn’t let him have even that much. He kept glancing over at Richie and feeling like a liar and a coward. And he wasn’t even reading, his eyes kept skipping over the same sentence over and over again.

“Rich,” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Okay.”

Eddie just said it. “We’re moving.”

“Okay, where? Closer to the rest of us?”

“No.” Eddie was looking at the comic book still, but he couldn’t seem to read anything right now. “Not closer. Moving away, like. To Delaware, apparently.”

He felt Richie look at him, and Eddie felt like he could possibly throw up again if he really wanted to. The room was hot all of a sudden, and Eddie couldn’t tell if he had suddenly gone blind or if he was just having a panic attack until he felt something drip onto his hand and he realized it was neither of those, he was crying. Fuck.

“What?” Richie said after the longest silence in the world.

“Yeah, my, um. Mom got a job and I want to get out of here after everything with Pennywise, so.” Eddie blinked hard several times, but he couldn’t make himself just stop crying so he didn’t look up. “We’re leaving in a couple weeks.”

Richie was quiet again. “Would you come back?” he asked finally.

“Probably not,” Eddie said. “Driving is super dangerous, and this is like the only town with a killer clown, probably, which makes it even more dangerous. So.” It was so hard to breathe, saying this. Eddie scratched his fingers deep into the carpet. He wanted it to hurt more than it did, so then he transferred to picking at the edge of his scab. “I could probably like. Send postcards or something,” he said, when he couldn’t take the silence any longer.

“Oh, sure,” Richie said, his voice small. It got stronger as he spoke. “Because I need postcards from Delaware, the most boring fucking place in New England. Pass.”

Eddie nodded, relieved. “Right.”

“Let me know when you move somewhere cool, like Hawaii.”

“I’d never move to Hawaii, there are too many volcanos.”

Richie snorted. “You’d never move somewhere cool enough to send a postcard from,” he said. “So. I don’t even want one.”

“Good,” Eddie said. “Because I wasn’t going to send one, probably, anyways.”

“Good,” Richie agreed.

Eddie looked up when he could, when he wasn’t crying anymore. “I’ll tell everyone else,” he said. “But I just wanted to tell you first.”

“Because you saw me first,” Richie nodded, like he was completing Eddie’s thought.

And going along with that was easier than trying to figure out what the truth was, so Eddie didn’t correct him. Even though he really liked correcting him. It was fun, Richie just nodded and smiled and pretended he was listening - or maybe he was actually listening, though. He always made fun of Eddie accurately, after, so.

“Well,” Eddie said. “I just wanted to tell you. In case it was weird, or.”

“Why would it be weird?” Richie said.

“Because you’re fucking weird, asshole,” Eddie said, and that let Richie smile at him and repeat the word weird in increasingly wacky Voices until Eddie smiled so big he thought his face might break.

It kind of really sucked, Eddie thought, that he found the best friend he’d ever had and only got to keep him for a year. But he’d find other best friends in Delaware. He wouldn’t even have to break his arm for them. So he didn’t need to be overthinking this like a fucking freak. This was just another night with Richie, that’s all this was. Fun, and normal. They re-read more comics and came up with their own better ideas, and played on Eddie’s Gameboy, and revisited their list of improvements to be made to the clubhouse that Ben needed to make. But, Eddie realized, he wouldn’t be here to see those things ever made.

“You’ve gotta argue him into it,” he told Richie.

“Without you? Please. It’ll never happen. Ben doesn’t know what to do with me, I think he probably has a giant hard-on for m-”

“Beep beep, Richie.”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Arguing is your thing, anyways,” he said.

He had a good point. But Eddie never had as much fun arguing with anyone as he did Richie. He’d have to get good at doing it with other people, like other people who got offended when he was too loud about it or didn’t see that they wanted him to stop. That would be hard to get used to again, when he could tell Richie he was an idiot who needed to shut the fuck up and Richie would just smile at him.

At around nine, Mom knocked on his door and tried the handle. “Eddie?” she said.

Richie was already moving. He rolled over Eddie’s bed and squeezed down between the bed and the wall. Eddie kicked Richie’s bag under the bed on his way to get in. He grabbed his Gameboy too, and slid under the covers as he heard his mom put her key in the lock. Eddie glanced over at Richie once, to confirm that Richie was well and truly out of sight, leaned back against his pillows, and then Mom opened the door.

“Eddie dear,” Mom said with concern. “What’s going on, why was your door locked?”

“I wanted some privacy, Mom, God,” Eddie said. He willed his heart to slow down, his cheeks not to be pink. Mom would check him for a fever, and every second she was in here was making him more nervous and all he wanted was to be left alone with Richie, this one more night, please.

“You look a little flushed,” Mom said.

Fuck. “No I don’t.”

“Eddie.”

He knew that tone, he shouldn’t have argued. Being around Richie always got Eddie used to saying whatever he was thinking and expecting to be understood. “I really feel okay,” he said, trying to sound more reasonable.

But Mom said she was getting the thermometer anyways, and Eddie didn’t want to argue and make this take any longer when Richie was crammed in his hiding spot so he just nodded. They were alone for half a second, and Eddie whispered, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Richie said. “I’m falling asleep.”

Son of a bitch. Eddie could not be smiling when his mom came back in the room. He kept his face together, just barely, but he also did feel better. Like, kind of good, all things considered. Richie could always make him feel good. It would take some real effort, for Eddie to convince himself he wouldn’t miss Richie. He’d have to start on that right away. Tomorrow.

Mom took his temperature, with that fucking thermometer that always said he had a fever no matter what. Over the couple minutes while the thermometer was doing its thing, Eddie’s feeling of doing good faded completely because Richie was here, he was hearing this, Mom talking about how Eddie probably had an infection from the scrape on his leg. And then Mom insisted on looking at his leg and saw the spot where Eddie had picked part of the scabs off, the skin around it red and raw, and went to get her disinfectants again. But first she checked on Eddie’s temperature, which was apparently a hundred and one somehow. “Oh dear,” Mom said. “I’ll get you some medicine, we’ll have you better by morning.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say. He just sat there, waiting for her to come back, sick to his stomach now thinking about what Richie might say after all of this. Then he felt even sicker when he saw the medicine Mom brought back with her, a little cup of the blue stuff. “Mom, please,” he said, and then he couldn’t say anything else because he didn’t want Richie to hear.

“You’ll feel so much better,” Mom said reassuringly.

He wouldn’t. The blue stuff made him so tired. But he took it, and then he sat, waiting for her to decide what she was going to use to try to burn out the nonexistent infection, and that was a new flavor of being afraid for tonight, too. There were so many things about this that fucking sucked, but mostly how he had to try and weigh how he knew he should act around his mom against how he was around Richie. How he knew he should just go along with what she said against how much he hated the idea of Richie seeing him do it.

The first touch of the washcloth was cold, and then it quickly turned stinging. Eddie slipped his hand under his blankets so he could clench it in the sheets without Mom noticing. It hurt so bad he couldn’t breathe. That was good, though, because he couldn’t make a sound when he felt something touch his hand. Richie, he realized after a second, Richie was touching his hand, and then Richie was holding his hand. His arm was totally hidden by the comforter, Mom didn’t notice, but it felt so dangerous. Eddie didn’t know what to do, until Mom dabbed at a new part of his leg and he involuntarily squeezed Richie’s hand tight. Richie just squeezed back. And after that it was a little easier to stay quiet.

Mom was done pretty fast, at least. She kissed Eddie’s forehead and turned the light off. “There. You’ll get some rest and we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

Eddie just nodded; he didn’t think he could talk right now, and he was starting to feel kind of spacey. Mom left, that was the thing, and went to bed and when Eddie heard her shut her bedroom door he got up on wobbly legs and locked his door again. “Okay,” he said. “We should be good.”

Richie crawled out from the crevice as Eddie got back in bed, and then Richie just sat there, sort of in the middle of the mattress, facing him. “Do you have a fever?” Richie asked. “Like really?”

It felt kind of pointless to lie. “No, I’m not hot.”

Richie leaned forward and put his hand over Eddie’s forehead for a second. “You aren’t,” he agreed, and then he couldn’t look at Eddie.

This was awful. “It’s fine,” Eddie said. “The medicine will just make me tired for a while, so. I won’t stay up late. But you can.”

“I don’t want to stay up if you aren’t awake.”

“Well, you can play my Gameboy,” Eddie said, knowing that would be a convincing selling point.

Richie pretended to sigh. “Let me put on my pajamas,” he said. “Do you still have mouthwash in here?”

“Top shelf behind the picture frame,” Eddie said. He kept his eyes to himself, while Richie changed and got the window and screen open again. He took a swig of Eddie’s mouthwash, swished it around, and then spit it out the window. Eddie had brushed his teeth before Richie got here, after the last time he threw up. He probably needed to do it again. But he was too tired, and he couldn’t make himself even want to leave his room with Richie in it. So he just curled up under his blankets and tried not to think about how light-headed he was.

Richie climbed back in bed over him, making a big deal about it, and Eddie knew he was supposed to argue about it, to say something like _Kick me in the face again, why don’t you_ , or shove him off. But if he moved he felt sicker, and he didn’t want to shove Richie off. So Eddie just curled up tighter, pulling the comforter up around himself, and waited for Richie to take the hint. And he did, he stopped when Eddie didn’t do anything fun, and just got under the blankets next to him. “Do you want your turn first?” he asked.

“No, you just do it,” Eddie said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

He heard the music as Richie started the game back up. Richie turned the volume down a lot, and then he was quiet for a second. “Are you gonna watch?” he said then.

“Oh my god,” Eddie sighed, but he sat up a little bit more and scooted closer. At the same time, Richie leaned back against the pillows and towards Eddie a little bit, so Eddie could see while lying down what was going on. “You’re doing it wrong,” Eddie said when Richie died almost right away.

“I’m getting in my groove,” Richie said, and glanced over at him with a growing smirk. “I haven’t hit my rhythm yet.”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said, and rested his cheek on Richie’s shoulder.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You were about to.”

Richie huffed out a laugh, but then he died again so Eddie was proven right. Eddie being right just meant Richie let him be, which was one of the best things about being right around Richie. Usually Eddie had to be sick in order for his mom to acknowledge that he was right, and that sucked. It was one of the only good things about being sick, actually, that and how Mom would let Eddie sit next to her on the couch and watch the news, too.

Eddie kept kind of falling asleep, and waking up whenever Richie talked to him. He stopped paying attention to what time it was, until Richie turned off the Gameboy and the music cut off. “We’re going to bed?” Eddie said sleepily.

“You’re already in bed, dude,” Richie said.

Eddie realized he was leaning on more Richie’s shoulder just in time for Richie to move, leaning over to put the Gameboy on Eddie’s nightstand. But then Richie settled back into his spot next to Eddie, letting Eddie curl right up against him again.

They usually talked for a while, after the lights were off. Or, Eddie talked and Richie answered. But Eddie couldn’t make his brain think of things to say, so he just shut his eyes, on purpose.

“Night,” Richie said in a small voice. But Eddie was asleep.

He woke up too hot - _not_ in a fever way but just like he was under two blankets with another person and it was July. Eddie kicked all the blankets off, and then realized Richie’s head was near his shoulder, and Richie’s back was pressed against Eddie’s side. And like, that wasn’t anything new but Eddie looked over at him and he thought maybe he didn’t want to be alive even, if he would never see Richie again. Something told him if they moved, he never would.

That was insane. Eddie couldn’t run away or live with anybody else, and trying would just make Mom so mad she’d maybe even take them further away. So Eddie put that thought away, pictured holding it in his hands and putting it in a box and then taping it shut. He put a couple of things in there, actually. How much he liked going to McDonald’s with just Richie, and how sometimes he wished Richie could spend every night here and maybe every day too, and how much he liked it when Richie smiled at him. All the stuff Eddie didn’t ever say because he thought it’d be weird, and now wouldn’t get the chance to. He shut it all up so he’d never think about it again because it wasn’t a big deal, actually, that he was moving, and he probably wouldn’t miss anybody after like a week.

While Mom was still asleep, Eddie got up and went to the bathroom. He felt surprisingly okay. Usually he’d still be asleepafter the blue stuff. He couldn’t figure out what was different, until he saw his toothbrush and remembered he’d had a lot to eat, right before Mom gave him the medicine. So that was interesting.

Eddie came back to find Richie stretched out over his whole bed. “Hey,” Eddie said, and poked Richie’s side. Then he poked more savagely when Richie didn’t react.

“Ow, you dick,” Richie said into Eddie’s pillow.

“Move,” Eddie said, and shoved Richie until he could get back into bed with him. “Put your clothes on, and I’ll tell Mom you just got here early.”

Richie grumped about it, but he did obey. “Can you hang out today, do you think?” he asked as he dug his jeans out of his bag. “We waited, Bill and Mike waited for you to be there to try out their fish stuff.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s heart seized up a little bit. “Uh. I can ask. Probably.”

“Awesome.”

Maybe Eddie glanced over at Richie as Richie was changing. Maybe he kind of kept looking, until he thought Richie might catch him. But Eddie put that in the box too, so he could just have a fun fucking day for once. Just a normal day. One of the last. But that was fine, Eddie didn’t care at all. And if he did, he knew where to put it.

In a move surprising exactly no one, Richie had turned proposing into the biggest pain in the ass in the world. Eddie hadn’t really thought about it in the moment, when he’d let Richie say he wanted to propose, but in retrospect he should’ve seen it coming. Give Richie a format to demand everyone stop and look at him and of course he’d use it like three times a week for months.

Four months, so far. Four months of Richie turning to him all serious and being like, “Hey Eds. Would you make me the happiest man in the world and… go get ramen with me?” Or an iced coffee, or a fucking blanket from the laundry basket or whatever. And Eddie would glare at him and sometimes feel tempted to shove him into traffic or something, but he’d agree to get the ramen because he _did_ usually want whatever Richie was proposing. But it was getting to be a real, actual annoyance, one exacerbated by how he couldn’t figure out how to say that out loud without making it sound like he was insecure, or that he didn’t trust Richie to eventually follow through. Because he did trust him, and in the grand scheme of things this wasn’t a big deal, to just let Richie have this, so Eddie was attempting to wait it out.

They had other things going on anyways. Richie was working on his new hour, which was more than half actually good now. So Richie was going out a lot of nights to different little clubs or whatever and Eddie came most of the time. Richie was doing shows with his old stuff to pay the bills on his house in LA while they stayed in New York and Eddie never went to those. Richie wrote jokes for some award show one of his comedy buddies was working on, and got lunch with Bev once a week, and read a lot.

And that was just Richie. Eddie was back at work now, too, finally settling into everything again. He’d found a new gym by their place, and he knew the bodega they went to and the grocery stores nearby and which CVS was closest. Weirdly, he was starting to feel like he wanted to be home more, like he actually enjoyed being at work less than he enjoyed the rest of his life, and that was really fucking sad but Eddie was emptying out the spot in his brain full of things he didn’t think about in favor of attempting to think about them and then - hypothetically - stop thinking about them forever. So it was sad, yes. But it wasn’t what his life was anymore.

“Hey,” Richie said, and Eddie expected another fake proposal right here in the fucking Chipotle line. At this point, he wasn’t even annoyed anymore. If they got free burritos, that would be pretty cool. But then Richie said, “You want to go to LA this weekend?”

“For how long?” Eddie said.

“Uh, like a week or two. There’s a couple shows I could do, and some podcasts that have been trying to have me on. Y’know. Get my name out there. I think I’ll probably have my new hour pretty soon, so.”

It never stopped being insane, how casually Richie talked about his career. He cared, Eddie knew he cared, but still, it was just antithetical to the way Eddie did anything. “Sure,” Eddie said. “Have you looked at flights?”

“No, I was kinda hoping you would do that,” Richie said with a little smile that probably meant he knew Eddie would insist on doing it anyways. But Richie didn’t need to say that, or point out how Eddie was a control freak who needed to compare all the prices and times and know he was getting the best deal. Richie just said it like it wasn’t a bad thing. This was also something Eddie was having trouble getting used to.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Eddie said. “Could we leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah, whenever works for you.”

“We’ll get better deals Thursdays,” Eddie said, half to himself.

Richie nudged him. “Have I told you how glad I am that you take care of that shit?” he said, in the quiet sincere way Eddie hardly could believe he meant.

“Yeah, Rich, you’ve told me all about your flight scheduling panic attacks,” Eddie said, and met Richie’s eyes to smile. “Seriously, I can’t believe you paid nine hundred dollars to fly to Portland.”

“I was overwhelmed!”

Eddie shook his head. “Unbelievable.” Then they were up, and Richie motioned him ahead, so Eddie went down the line and got his bowl at the end. Richie followed, and while he was going Eddie paid for both of them.

“Did you get chips?” Richie asked when he rejoined him at the register.

“They’re in the bag,” Eddie snapped, because he was having trouble getting his card back in the proper spot.

Richie peered in, added his burrito to Eddie’s bag and carried it out for him. And okay, this was patently insane, but Eddie was starting to think that maybe he was just kind of crazy. Maybe even with the person who was without a doubt his perfect match, Eddie still wouldn’t be able to ever relax and be normal about things. Maybe he’d just snap at Richie all the time, and Richie would be the one trapped in a marriage ten years from now. Hell, maybe that’s why Richie wasn’t proposing.

This was not a new concern. Eddie had been fearing this basically since the start. But the early days were full of like, logistics and Richie’s tour and finding an apartment for them and getting his divorce happening. He’d just had his final meeting earlier that week, actually, with Myra and their lawyers, so their divorce was officially final and he was done with her. But that had made Eddie honestly feel mostly worse. At least he’d had a sort of tangible promise from Myra, that she couldn’t leave him on a whim. And here he’d gone and done that on his own, like that was a good idea. His bravery was feeling really fucking stupid now.

“I don’t know why anyone gets the corn salsa or sofritas,” Richie said as they left, holding the door open for Eddie.

Eddie glared at him as he buttoned his coat up - it was getting seriously cold at night now. “I got both of those.”

“Yeah, I know. I think that’s deranged,” Richie said, with glee.

“Since when do you call things deranged?”

“Since Chris taught me it’s what all the kids say.”

“Chris,” Eddie repeated darkly. It’s not that he thought he’d lose Richie to her, she was a lesbian and also like twenty-eight, but he wasn’t used to Richie having friends that weren’t the Losers.

Richie was looking at him; Eddie glanced back. “You upset that I’m so much more young and hip and woke than you?” Richie asked sympathetically.

“You are eight months older than me.”

“I’m talking spiritually. I think I’m spiritually much younger than you. I have a certain _joie de vivre_.”

Eddie gave him a doubtful look. “Do you? Are you sure that’s not just delusion?”

Richie laughed so Eddie smiled, relieved to be taken the right way. “Okay, good point,” Richie said. “She’s trying to get me popular on twitter, she says that’s where my people are.”

“Assholes?”

“Actually, yeah. Verbatim.” Richie swung the bag as they walked. “But I don’t think I’m funny written down. I don’t think it’ll translate.”

Eddie knew very little about Twitter, and still didn’t have a Facebook for that matter. He had Instagram. At least that made sense, posting pictures of shit was a reasonable suggestion. But Eddie couldn’t think of a single thought he’d ever had that was worth sharing permanently online, let alone one that was under a hundred characters or whatever. But Richie was funny in any format. “You probably could be,” he said, and then thought that was dumb. Why was he playing it cool with his boyfriend? They were dating. He didn’t need to be coy.

“You think?”

“Yeah, it’s just like passing notes in class or whatever. Right?”

Richie laughed, which was confusing because Eddie didn’t mean to be funny but he did always like making Richie laugh. “Sure, babe, just like that,” Richie said.

“Okay, fuck you,” Eddie glared, but that just made Richie even happier. Richie just kept being like that, happier than ever when Eddie was being rude, and it made no sense whatsoever.

Eddie got his keys out at their building. He let Richie in first, opened the door for him and then made eye contact and said, “Hey. I wasn’t serious.”

“I know, dude.” Richie gave him a gentle little smile. “You obviously don’t actually want to fuck me, you _me_ to-”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Very fair,” Richie agreed, and went inside. Dumb things about him made Eddie crazy, like the the sight of the back of Richie’s neck, and the way he failed to ever distinguish which key was the for their deadbolt and which one was the door handle.

“Seriously, dude?” Eddie said after Richie managed to get it wrong this time too. “That’s the last five times. If you were just picking at random, you should’ve gotten it right at least twice.”

“Well, that’s the problem, I’m not picking at random, obviously. I am just doing a very, very bad job,” Richie said with a grin and finally got the right key in the right place. “It’s a fun little moment,” he added then, and got the door open. “To assess how we feel here.”

“Hungry,” Eddie said, and took Richie’s keys from him as they went inside, making sure to make a note that he was holding the key for the deadbolt.

“Oh, have I lost my key privileges?” Richie asked, shutting and locking the door behind them.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Eddie said, and went over to the desk in the living room that was technically both of theirs but only he ever really used. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out his roll of dot stickers, and put red ones on the deadbolt key, one on both sides. Seriously, he should’ve done this for Richie when he did his own, when they’d moved in. But then Eddie remembered that Richie had teased him for color-coding shit, that’s why he hadn’t done this before. And then he wondered if this was all an elaborate ploy to get him to give in, before he reminded himself that Richie didn’t work like that.

God this sucked. He was the happiest he’d ever be and he still couldn’t just be actually happy. Eddie stopped thinking on purpose, and tossed Richie his keys. “Here.” He went over to take his shoes off then too.

“Thanks,” Richie said. He was sitting on the couch, pulling everything out of the bag. “Hey, did you get extra guac for the chips?”

“No.”

Silence from Richie. Eddie went over to the fridge and poured himself a glass of water from his pitcher of filtered water, the pitcher he knew Richie thought was bullshit but had stopped commenting on because it was actually not fun for Eddie to argue about. Even though he didn’t know the specifics, that Myra and Eddie had gone fucking ten rounds over water preferences and it was kind of a hot button issue, Richie had picked up on the hints and left him alone. Richie _stopped_ , Eddie reminded himself, so the least he could do was act normal for three fucking seconds.

“We forgot forks again,” Richie said.

“Do you need a fork? I thought the whole point of a burrito was that it’s self-contained,” Eddie said, opening the silverware drawer.

“In theory, young Edward,” Richie said, that fucking British Voice. At least he’d gotten better at it. “But in actuality, the burrito in question is having trouble maintaining its primary, more cohesive form, shall we say.”

Eddie brought them both forks, and sat down next to Richie on the couch. “You don’t have to do a weird bit,” he said. “You can just ask me whatever you want to ask.”

“Oh, I’m that fucking transparent, huh?” Richie sounded weird, like not mad but also kind of serious.

“Yeah, you are,” Eddie answered. “It’s almost like I’ve known you since you were fucking thirteen, or something.” He focused very intently on mixing his bowl to the optimum consistency, mixing the guac in thoroughly across the rest of the ingredients.

After a brief second, Richie said, “Well. You can’t say that. You knew me for a year, and then you forgot I ever existed.”

Eddie turned to look at him, furious beyond belief. “We all forgot!” he said, motioning with his hands.

“I know,” Richie answered, infuriatingly. “I’m just saying, it’s more accurate-”

“As if you give a fuck about accuracy all of a sudden? When you’ve been telling jokes about being straight for twenty years?”

“Ten,” Richie said.

“When you said yogurt was essentially liquid cheese? Does that seem super accurate to you?” Eddie took a bite for emphasis.

Richie snorted, and just filled his mouth instead of answering.

Eating on the couch with Richie was a new development. They had a table, which they also ate at, but Richie preferred the couch and Eddie was always trying to figure out what parts of his compulsions made sense and which were actually unreasonable. So he’d tried it, and the world hadn’t collapsed and Richie had agreed to vacuum once a week so Eddie’s brain would shut the fuck up and now they ate on the couch. And that was it. Richie hadn’t tried to guilt him into it or made a big deal about it. That was good. That was how things were supposed to be. Eddie ran over the whole thing in his head every time they ate here, just to make sure.

“Does it really bother you?” Richie broke the silence. He reached into the bag of chips and got a couple. “Telling jokes about being straight. That I’m still kind of in the closet? Like, that I haven’t told my parents, or…”

“No,” Eddie said over the end of the sentence. “It doesn’t bother me, we talked about it.”

“No, I know, but.” Richie hesitated, and then crunched on the chips instead of saying anything else.

“I don’t give a shit what your parents know right now, or strangers think about you ever,” Eddie said, just to be clear. “I know who you are. That’s not what’s…” He trailed off, then, because he hadn’t exactly meant to admit that he was upset about anything, if he could avoid it.

Richie, of course, caught it. “Ah ha!” he crowed in a Voice that was probably supposed to be Sherlock Holmes if his mouth wasn’t half full. It improved when he swallowed. “The game is afoot!”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I said you could just ask.”

“Elementary, my dear Watson,” Richie answered.

So he wasn’t ready to get serious yet, fine. Eddie wasn’t in a rush to talk anyways, because his throat was kind of closed up from Richie saying “my dear” anyways, so he didn’t push it. Silences with Richie weren’t ominous.

“So you are upset, though,” Richie said after another pause.

“Not really,” Eddie lied, and then had to correct himself. “I mean. No, I just… I’m not…” Fuck. It was hard to just tell the truth so he said part. The tip of the iceberg, but all he could get out. “I’m in a weird mood.”

“Okay,” Richie said. “You want to watch House and tell me more about how he’s committing medical malpractice every five minutes?”

“He is, though.”

“He’s a dangerous criminal,” Richie agreed.

“He’s a drug addict with a god complex, and he shouldn’t be allowed to treat anyone let alone himself.”

Richie nodded pleasantly. “I’ll fire up up the TV.”

It was dumb, how exactly this was what Eddie wanted. Sitting on this couch Richie let him pick out, and watching garbage television and talking through it, it was exactly what Eddie wanted out of a Wednesday evening. Like, if you asked him as a kid what he wanted, it would’ve been pretty damn close to this exactly. Living with his best friend, even though they were still figuring out how to be around each other. That was bringing up a lot from those first few years of his marriage, too, where he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want to be anywhere near the woman he’d just married, except now he wanted to be around Richie so bad it hurt and yet something inside himself wouldn’t let him.

It was easier when they were sleeping. He couldn’t overthink everything, and Richie wasn’t watching. There was something about when he was, that feeling of being actually Looked At by the person Eddie had never been able to hide much from anyways, that made him afraid to let any more of himself be known. When Richie was asleep, Eddie could wrap his arms around him and take a deep breath and just be in love with him. He’d be better tomorrow, he always promised himself, and never was, and Richie seemed to be more in love with him than ever, somehow.

He and Richie packed together the next day, once Eddie was back from work. They worked easily, familiar with each other. Richie threw everything onto the bed and Eddie folded and rolled and got everything into the bags. “Are we going anywhere nice?” Eddie asked in the middle of the process. “Should I bring a blazer?”

“Sure,” Richie said.

“What do you mean sure, are there plans?”

“We can make plans, yeah, sure.”

“Okay. I just… can you do that, then? I’m tired of…” Making all the plans, he almost said, but he wasn’t really. Richie never had any objection to whatever Eddie had picked out to do, so there was no exhausting back and forth. He could read Richie in a way he’d never been able to read Myra, too, but unfortunately that didn’t mean he could trust it yet. But, that didn’t make it Richie’s fault, that Eddie was spending so much mental energy that he’d never admit to planning their dates, so he didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, Eds, I’ve got it,” Richie said after a second. Eddie glanced at him and found Richie watching him, intent. “I’ve got it,” Richie repeated. “Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you,” Eddie added.

“Yeah, thank me for doing the bare minimum,” Richie said with a smile in his voice. “I’m so unappreciated. You want to go somewhere in particular?”

Eddie turned to him then, and put down the shit he was holding and reached for Richie’s hands. It was kind of frightening for a second, until Richie reached back out and interlaced their fingers. Richie was still smiling, looking goofy. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“I love you,” Eddie said. Not for the first time, but the rush hadn’t faded any. “No. We can go wherever.”

“Okay. I love you too,” Richie added, and leaned in for a peck. “Get your blazer, I’ll call an Uber.”

They held hands, in the back of the Uber on the way to the airport. Eddie sat behind the driver, because he knew this model of Explorer, the driver’s side had only gotten an Acceptable safety rating in testing and he wasn’t going to put Richie there. Not that they’d need any safety features; the driver was good, she didn’t take turns too fast and swore under her breath at taxis so he trusted her.

But, they stopped holding hands at the airport. Richie got recognized any time they flew anywhere, and the last thing they wanted was for the story to leak on its own before Richie had figured out what he wanted to say. Eddie wasn’t a huge fan of holding hands in an airport anyways - like, hello, a hotspot of germs from not only this city but every other city with a functioning airport. Why else did so many people get sick on planes? Not exactly the best spot to rub your hands all over each other no matter how long you’d forgotten the other person existed. Richie, after he’d stopped laughing, had admitted Eddie had a point. So they didn’t hold hands in the airport. That was a good thing, Eddie reminded himself. But this particular day, as they walked through the terminal, Eddie kind of wanted to let Richie have his arm around him.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Richie said as they walked, “And I think I’m going to get really into IPAs.”

“What?”

“The beer.”

“Do you like them?” Eddie asked, wrinkling his nose.

Richie glanced over at him. “I’m detecting some judgement.”

“Wow, did you really _manage_ to detect that? Detect this, asshole,” Eddie said, and flipped off a now-grinning Richie. “What the fuck are you actually talking about?”

“I think it goes with my persona,” Richie shrugged. “Y’know. The glasses and general…” He spread his arms, and his bag almost slipped off his shoulder. “I think I look like I should know about IPAs.”

“You look like-”

“Oh, here we go,” Richie said on top of him, so loving.

Eddie restarted, doggedly. “You look like you attend ComicCon.”

“And yet, of the two of us, remind me who’s actually gone?”

“There’s a difference between going and _looking_ like - okay how about this, you look like Shaggy grew up and obeyed a deathbed wish from Scooby Doo to only wear shirts seen in bowling alleys in the eighties.”

Richie seemed kind of stunned; he blinked. “Scooby Doo’s dead, in this hypothetical?”

“He’s a dog, Rich, they only live like fifteen years.”

“How old do you think Shaggy is, in the show?”

“He’s in his twenties, right? The only time a bunch of people go on road trips in a van.” Eddie was sort of trying to be funny, so he checked to make sure Richie was smiling and was pleased to find he was.

Before answering, Richie grabbed Eddie’s arm loosely. “Oh. Wait. Let’s get Chinese.” He pointed at a place they were coming up on.

Eddie allowed himself to be led there, reluctantly. “I am not getting Chinese at an airport from a place called _Wok and Roll_ ,” he said strongly.

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“I don’t see you suggesting any alternatives.”

“Literally anywhere else.”

“Look, I only shit my brains out every other time I eat here,” Richie said joyously, and allowed Eddie to wrench his arm free and stop in his tracks. “C’mon, I’m feeling lucky.”

“Richie,” Eddie said.

“Eds,” Richie echoed solemnly. “As the party more familiar with this airport, I think-”

“Oh, right, Mister fucking airport expert. You know all the fucking best places to get gummy rice or warm fish or congealed fucking eggs or whatever the fuck else you want to eat in an airport,” Eddie said. “Just because I don’t jet set around the world to perform to audiences of thousands-”

“Thousands of homophobes,” Richie said under his breath, and Eddie grinned suddenly. The best kind of smile, the one only Richie had ever been able to get out of him.

Of course, exactly then was when Richie got recognized by a couple of dudes who definitely worked on Wall Street and called shit gay as an insult - not that Eddie could really get too upset about that, given that Richie did that too in his standup - so Eddie took a step back and let that whole thing happen. He took their picture for them, actually. It was kind of amazing. Richie was famous just like he always said he’d be.

“Let’s find you a map,” Richie said once the fans walked away.

“How imminent is this IPA obsession, anyways,” Eddie said, and started walking with purpose towards the little map, up ahead. Richie kept up easily, which was kind of annoying.

“Oh, it’s inevitable,” Richie said solemnly.

“Okay but like, are you trying to find one right now? Do I need to factor that into my choice?” Eddie stopped in front of the map and scanned the list of restaurants.

“Nah. I can go another day. They taste like piss, so.”

So he hadn’t been serious about the IPA thing after all, it was another one of those things he said just to say something. Eddie wasn’t always good at determining those things. He’d get so invested in the argument that he’d forget about things like perspective, and then he’d end up so mad at Richie over a conversation about lampshades that he could barely look at him for like ten minutes. It was fun, kind of. It was fun as long as Richie was having fun, but Richie was still fucking pathologically averse to ever admitting to a single negative feeling so sometimes it was a little hard to tell if he had any. That was another thing Eddie didn’t know if he was supposed to talk about or not.

They got tacos instead, and Richie did get a beer but like a Corona, which Eddie obviously made fun of him for. So, then Richie talked him into getting a margarita with him, and they got on the plane feeling pretty good. It lasted a while.

“Oh,” Richie said, when they were eating their in-flight snacks. “I forget if you told me. Are you paying alimony?”

It hard for Eddie to fight his knee-jerk reaction, suspicion. “Uh,” he stalled, and then couldn’t think of any reason not to tell him. Richie was being quiet, for once, and there was nobody in the aisle seat to overhear. “Yeah.”

“Like a lot?”

“No. She got to keep the apartment, though, she’ll probably sell it.”

Richie nodded slowly, Eddie saw it out of his peripheral vision. “For how long?”

“How long am I paying?” Eddie asked, and Richie nodded again. “Five years. It’ll be automatic, so I don’t really plan on thinking about it that much.”

“Oh. Okay. Yeah, who thinks about their ex-wife,” Richie mumbled. “Totally lame.” Which was basically a panic attack, for him, but Eddie couldn’t tell what over.

“Do you _want_ me to think about her more?” he asked.

“No,” Richie said. “I want you to do whatever you want, but I want you to talk about it. With me.”

“Why?”

“Because…? Is that a trick question?”

“No.” But was _that_ a trick question? This was a fucking nightmare.

“Because I like talking to you?” Richie said. “And I want to know what you think? Is that okay?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk.”

That was apparently enough. Richie finished his Coke and went to sleep, which seemed physically impossible but was also a classic Richie move. He also fell asleep leaning towards Eddie’s shoulder, with his neck at an angle that seemed like it would have disastrous lumbar consequences.

And again, it was dumb as shit but Richie being asleep let Eddie relax and think about this rationally. He could step back for a second and remind himself that Richie was several things, including possibly his soulmate and also so unsubtle the first question he’d asked Eddie when he saw him again was if he’d actually married a woman. Richie didn’t try to do whatever Eddie was afraid of him doing.

Just to fucking exorcise this, Eddie decided to take a second to think about what he was afraid of, to confront it head on. There were no problems with Richie. The problems were all with Myra - seeing her had like dredged up all this shit, memories that he hadn’t processed because he hadn’t thought about the fact that his wife was kind of really fucking mean to him, not before he’d gotten a boyfriend who never was.

It wasn’t normal, Bev had told him every time he confessed something else Myra did that he didn’t like. Like, tracking his phone and calling him if he went somewhere she didn’t recognize, or throwing away his clothes that she didn’t like, or fucking trying to tell him not to fucking swear! He was allowed to not like it and want her to stop, Bev said, and he believed her because she’d fucking know. But that didn’t solve how Eddie had just let it keep happening for so many years, because it kind of made sense to him that he’d always have to be making up for something. That’s what he had to do with Mom, right, he had to make up for stuff all the time. Fuck, this all was coming back to his mom, which was awful because Richie hated her so much that Eddie never wanted to bring her up on the rare occasions he had something worked out to say.

The answer, he suspected, was just to grow up and say something. But the part of his brain telling him that was dangerous was bigger. He’d spent so many more years with someone who used every vulnerable moment as fucking leverage. It was hard to unlearn that kind of stuff, okay. Of course he couldn’t do it in four months.

Richie slept through the landing, so Eddie woke him up on the runway. “Rich.” He jostled Richie’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“I’m up,” Richie lied.

“Okay, but really.”

“Really,” Richie repeated, and ran a hand over his face. “I don’t feel too good.”

“God, don’t say that. I always think I’m gonna get sick from the plane,” Eddie sighed.

Richie smiled sleepily. “You think you’re gonna get sick from everything.”

“Okay, but planes specifically, more than other things.”

“Well. If there’s anything you’ve taught me, it’s that it takes a while for symptoms to show usually, right? So you wouldn’t know now.”

“That’s a really fucking nice way of saying I’m being irrational,” Eddie said, and there was a second where he thought they might kiss, just looking into each others eyes. He could _see_ how much Richie loved him.

“Just logically unsound,” Richie said, in the gentle way Eddie could hardly stand. He was so fucking gentle. Eddie actually wasn’t sure he deserved it, when he could never manage to be gentle with him back. He’d have to try again, more, harder.

“Alright. I’ll relax,” Eddie said, though he knew it was a lie.

Richie squeezed Eddie’s hand on the armrest. Maybe he knew too. “Look. We’ll get home. You’ll insist we change the sheets and then we’ll sleep for like twelve hours and feel a lot better.”

It sounded like a good plan. It would’ve been one, too, except that Eddie woke up puking at six in the morning, and no sooner was he rinsing his mouth out after than Richie was in behind him, puking too.

“Food poisoning,” Eddie said when Richie was done.

“Safe bet,” Richie agreed.

Eddie took stock of how he felt, an inventory. He hadn’t done this for a while, he realized as he did it. Richie never made him consider how sick he felt, honestly never asked - not in a way where he didn’t care, but more like because he knew Eddie had it under control. But now that Eddie was paying attention, his head hurt, he was dizzy, and his stomach fucking _hurt_ and he was pretty sure he had a fever.

Richie flushed, and struggled to his feet to join Eddie at the sink. For balance, maybe, Richie put a hand on Eddie’s back and leaned in, bent over to drink from the faucet and splash some water on his face. Eddie stayed where he was, leaned on the counter and trying to catch his breath. He fucking hated throwing up, it always made him think of Mom.

“God, I can’t even think with this headache,” Richie said, and left the faucet running as he opened the medicine cabinet. “You want some?” He held up an orange pharmacy bottle, no label.

Eddie’s heart jumped. “What are those?”

“Uh Tylenol or Advil.”

“What happened to the bottle?”

“I dropped it in the sink, so I just put the ones I could save in here.” Richie popped three of them, swallowed with a cupped hand of water.

And okay. Logically Eddie knew Richie wasn’t going to poison him. Not on purpose. “I’m good,” Eddie said.

“You don’t have a headache?”

“No, I definitely do.”

“But you won’t take Advil?”

“I won’t take unmarked pills from a random bottle, no,” Eddie snapped. “But I’ll be fine.” He straightened, painfully, and went back to bed. All he wanted to do was not move as much as possible, and possibly carve his stomach out with a knife.

Fuck, there went his resolution to be nicer. He thought he probably could get an extension, though, given the whole food poisoning thing. Extenuating circumstances.

Richie came back too, after a second, with two glasses of water. He set one on Eddie’s side of the bed, and hobbled back to his side, then. The springs creaked as he got in bed. “You want to turn the TV on?” he asked.

“No.” Eddie’s head was throbbing with his heartbeat. Noise would make it burst.

“Okay,” Richie said after a second. Eddie heard something, and then the clear sound of Richie booting up his laptop. The one thing Richie was terrible at was sitting in silence, after all. And after a second, Eddie heard keys clicking, so whatever Richie was doing sounded kind of productive, at least. That was good. Eddie was having trouble finding a position that didn’t cause unbearable agony. Then he got up to throw up again, and felt even worse. It was probably something like botulism, he had to try to stay hydrated but the second time he threw up mostly water so this was gonna be tough.

When Eddie was back in bed, Richie reached over to rub his back. He had managed to drink half the glass, and so far kept it down. “How do you feel?” Richie asked. “Any better?”

“No,” Eddie said.

“Wouldn’t Tylenol help you be in a little less agony?” Richie suggested after a second.

“Maybe, but Advil slash Tylenol slash whatever the fuck you might have mixed up in there would not definitively help and might make it worse, so.” Eddie regretted snapping almost immediately, again. As a compromise, he rolled over towards Richie, hugging a pillow against his chest. “I’ll be fine,” he said.

“Okay.” Richie’s hand was just resting on Eddie’s shoulder now, warm and steady. “Well it’s just, you tend to sort of… play dead. When you’re sick. Which makes it hard to tell what you need.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Because Eddie loved Richie more than anything, but somehow not enough to give him an opening to be like everyone else Eddie had felt loved by. Because the idea of Richie turning into just the next person to decide they knew what Eddie needed was making him feel even worse. Those weren’t good reasons, but they were all he could think of, before another sharp cramp had him crunching up smaller than ever.

“Okay,” Richie said again, and then he got up. To vomit, Eddie assumed, until he heard Richie putting on shoes.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, opening his eyes but still horizontal.

“Going to CVS,” Richie answered, picking up a hoodie and searching the pockets. “To get a fresh, un-opened bottle of definitely Advil for you, and like every color of Gatorade they make, and whatever else you want. Unless you want me to get Tylenol. Honestly I don’t know what the difference is.”

“Richie.”

“I don’t! Don’t shame me for being dumb, man. Which one should I get?” Richie was now looking through some shorts.

“No, neither, I’ll be fine. What if you throw up on the sidewalk?”

“Then TMZ gets to run another story about me being a wreck, and my comeback will be even more exciting,” Richie smiled.

“I’m serious,” Eddie said.

Richie abandoned his search to stare at Eddie. “You’re serious,” he repeated. “You want me to… _not_ do anything to make you feel better.”

“I want you to not play fucking nurse, yeah.”

“Dude, I’m not asking to-” Richie paused, made a face. Then he burped, and grimaced. “This isn’t me walking out on this conversation, but I need to go while I can, here. I feel like this is going to take a turn for the worse again. Is there anything else I should get while I’m out? Like some instant ramen or something? What’s the officially sanctioned sick food?”

Eddie turned onto his back, angering his stomach, and covered his eyes with his arm. They needed food they could eat. “Ramen would be good,” he said, forcing himself to just answer the question. “Applesauce.”

“Ginger ale?”

“Yeah. And it’s Tylenol.”

“Okay.” Richie came over to the bed, checked in his nightstand door for whatever he was looking for.

“Your keys are on the couch,” Eddie said. “You threw them there, and I said you’d forget you did that and you said you’d never forget because you’d sit on them.”

Richie laughed. “Classic me,” he said. “I’ve got my phone, call me if you think of anything else I need to get or something.”

“Okay.”

“You probably don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

“I do not,” Eddie agreed.

So Richie instead leaned over and put his hand on Eddie’s chest and just looked at him for a second. “I love you,” he said simply, and then ruffled Eddie’s hair and stood up.

“Love you,” Eddie echoed, and then Richie was gone.

Right. Okay. Richie loved him. He didn’t want to do anything but help. But the problem was, Eddie wasn’t sure he’d know if or when the opposite was ever true.

Well, actually that was kind of bullshit. He could know, because he did know that Richie wouldn’t ever be anything like his mom. There was a fundamental difference there, there _was,_ even if he couldn’t put it into words right now. Richie never made him do anything, that was part of it. Richie, as long as Eddie could remember, had always put himself directly next to Eddie, in the middle of whatever danger they were in. Richie felt like shit and went out anyways, because he wanted Eddie to feel better.

Thought exercise, just for fun, Eddie tried to imagine a world where, when he felt sick, he knew that he could ask for help and actually get it, on his terms. It felt like a fucking fantasy, like science fiction. But it was worth pointing out, he thought, that when he’d told Richie he didn’t want to take the medication offered, Richie hadn’t gotten mad. He just went to get him what he’d said he wanted instead.

Eddie actually kind of fell asleep, waiting for Richie to get back. The weird, sick half-asleep kind of state he was too used to, though it was better when it wasn’t chemically induced. When Richie was back, Eddie sat up and found he was a little less dizzy.

Richie had not just gotten Gatorade and Tylenol, he got more toothpaste and four new toothbrushes, mouthwash, ramen and applesauce and pretzels and he dumped it all on the floor just outside the bathroom to sprint to the toilet and throw up again.

While Richie did that, Eddie made himself get up. He walked stiffly to the bathroom and picked up the bag and he did take Tylenol, three, with water from the sink. Then he sat on the bathroom floor, his back against the cabinet. It was cool, and it seemed like a good idea to keep the toilet nearby with the way things were going.

“Eddie.” Richie was lying on the floor, dramatic, and Eddie was very glad they’d cleaned the last time they were here because otherwise this would be unbearably gross. “Please. I have one dying wish. Get me a blue Gatorade.”

“You’re not dying,” Eddie said, but he did lean over with a groan to snag the handle of the plastic bags and pull them closer. “I can’t believe you like blue still. You’re an adult.” He passed Richie a blue one, poking Richie’s side with it until he took it.

“I’m an adult who likes blue,” Richie retorted. Not his best work. He must really be feeling bad. With a lot of noises, he propped himself up on one arm to have a drink.

That looked good. Eddie reached over to get himself a bottle too, classic yellow, and had small sips. For the moment, he was feeling better.

Richie drank like a third of his bottle and then lay back down on the floor. “I can’t believe you made me get applesauce,” he said. His voice was rough. “It’s just lumpy fruit pudding.”

“Leave that out of the special,” Eddie said, and put his head back against the cabinet with a thunk. Richie just sort of laughed, and then groaned, and stayed where he was. “I’m sorry,” Eddie said while he wanted to, so he couldn’t talk himself out of it. “Sorry I said you were… trying to play nurse.”

“It’s cool. I meant to make a fun, sexy nurse joke but time was of the essence.” Richie took his glasses off and put them up on the edge of the tub behind him.

Eddie felt worse, somehow, for being understood. Maybe he hadn’t done a good enough job apologizing, maybe that’s why Richie wasn’t upset. “Okay. But. I shouldn’t have, like. I shouldn’t have snapped at you when you were just trying to help me.”

Richie just squinted at him. “I said it’s cool.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not mad, babe,” Richie said.

“Okay.”

Richie struggled, and pulled himself up to sit against the edge of the tub. “You do, though,” he said then. “Play dead. I always knew when things were wrong because you wouldn’t talk about it. With your mom, and whatever’s going on with you now, like the past week. So.”

It was awful, how well Richie knew him. Eddie refused to look at him. “I don’t know how to talk about things,” he said. “I’ve never been… like, living with somebody that I can talk to about shit. It’s always been…”

“Passive aggressive and unspoken?” Richie guessed, his smile crooked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Can you tell me what would help, at least? I can’t not do it if you don’t tell me what I’m not supposed to be doing.”

Eddie frowned for a second, following that logic. “Right,” he said when he got there. “But. Another option is for me to stop being so sensitive and just be normal about things.”

“Sure,” Richie snorted. “In the universe where we can just change how we’ve been programmed to react to things, I guess that could be an option. But as far as I can tell, in this reality, what’s happening is you trying and failing to do that and then feeling like shit.”

That was basically it, yeah. Hearing it put out there so blatantly made Eddie want to be better. So he had another drink of his Gatorade, and he tried actually trusting the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He started small. “I just need to know what I’m taking.”

“Totally cool. Very reasonable.” Richie nodded.

It was kind of stupid, how easy it was for Eddie to come around on this and decide this was awesome. All it took was Richie listening to him once, and Eddie was suddenly more than willing to keep trying? He was so fucking broken. “The stuff that happened with Myra, do you want to hear the, like. The specifics?” he asked tentatively.

“Yeah, if you ever want to get into it.”

Eddie was not, he discovered, ready to get into this right now. “Okay,” he said. “I just feel like… if I talk about it, you’ll…” Okay, fuck, this was hard. Eddie scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know. Use it against me?”

“What?” Richie asked in bewilderment.

“Like, if we actually fight.”

“Why would we actually fight?”

“I don’t know, dude! That’s just how I think.”

“Okay, okay, yes. No bad ideas phase. We’re brainstorming communication strategies here, I’m on board,” Richie said, like he wanted that to be funny, but he was also pretty obviously visibly miserable, too. He crossed his arms over his stomach and grimaced.

“What can I do, can I get you something?” Eddie asked.

“Nope. I think we just have to wait this out, no?”

“Yeah.”

Richie nodded, and Eddie shut his eyes. Moving felt kind of impossible. He managed with Herculean effort to have another sip from his bottle.

“Eds?” Richie croaked, and cleared his throat.

“Yeah?”

“You remember how I used to spend the night?”

“Of course. Yes. The only time I liked being at home.”

Richie huffed out a laugh, like he thought that was a joke, and Eddie didn’t want to ruin the flow and insist it wasn’t, but, it wasn’t.“I always remembered feeling like you were a different person there,” Richie said. “Like, I couldn’t conceive of a version of you that wasn’t talking all the time.”

“Mom didn’t like it when I talked back,” Eddie said. “I always kind of thought she’d make me feel worse to make me shut up.”

Silence from Richie, like dead silence. Eddie opened his eyes to find Richie staring at him. “What?” Eddie said defensively.

“Nothing, you just. I think this is the first time you’ve brought her up, like ever,” Richie said. He had some more to drink, his bottle nearly empty.

Eddie frowned at him. “You told me point blank that you hated her.”

“What, so to you that meant I don’t want to hear her name mentioned in my presence? I just told you that because I didn’t want to hear you making excuses for her anymore.”

Uh, okay. Fascinating. Eddie needed some time to process that. “Oh,” he said, just so he wouldn’t be totally quiet.

“You never even got bad with her, anyways,” Richie said.

“Or you just didn’t see it.”

“Sure,” Richie said, pleasantly sarcastic.

“I’m serious!”

“You’re never gonna do it, Eddie. You’re never going to make me take someone else’s side.”

This was the definition of too good to be true. “You’ve never really seen me upset, though,” Eddie said. “One day it’ll be bad enough that you don’t want to talk to me again, and-”

“No it won’t,” Richie said. “And yeah, I have. I guarantee you’ve yelled at me more in the past four months than you did the first four months you were with Myra. I mean, right?” He has a point. “You being a _little_ snippy sometimes is not the end of the world, and it’s not a good reason for your mom or your wife to make you feel like shit. Especially considering how much of a bitch you are, just like baseline.”

Eddie didn’t know how to take that. “I’m a bitch?”

“You are,” Richie agreed. “And I love it.”

“It literally _never_ gets under your skin? Really?” Eddie demanded, because if they were having it out he might as well check. “That I fly off the handle about bullshit.”

“No, dude.” Richie shrugged with his entire body. “I’m just glad you’re talking to me. Okay? You could probably say whatever you want. But you don’t, and you apologize if it goes too far, and just because I accept those apologies doesn’t mean I don’t get it. I get it. It is just really not that big of a deal.”

Huh. Eddie blinked. If Richie was right, to entertain that possibility for a second, that would change a lot of what Eddie had always assumed about the fundamental rules of the universe and how he fit into it. Like, basically all of it. He wasn’t prepared to get into that right now. So he said the only thing he knew. “I think I’m fucked up.”

Richie laughed again, and groaned. “Yeah, man, you should probably go to therapy,” he said, but he didn’t sound judgmental about it. For some reason, he almost just sounded like, loving.

“You’re one to talk.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about your extremely maladaptive coping mechanisms which make you definitely a lot worse than me,” Richie said with a growing smile. Then he threw up again.

Eddie stayed where he was. He was actually feeling better.

“Eds,” Richie said then. “Look at me.”

Weird. Eddie looked though, and Richie had his glasses kind of half on, crooked. And the way he looked at Eddie, Eddie could kind of tell what was coming before Richie even said it.

“Will you marry me?”

Eddie didn’t know what to say. “Seriously?” was what he ended up saying.

“I don’t have a ring. Well, I _had_ a ring and it fell out of my wallet basically immediately and I thought I’d find it eventually. But I haven’t, and I can’t keep not being your fiancé.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot believe you are proposing next to the toilet,” he said. “This should be the least romantic thing in the world. I can’t even kiss you right now.”

“Should be?” Richie said, and Eddie was caught. He struggled to his feet, and held a hand out to Richie. “What’s this?” Richie said, and took Eddie’s hand to try and stand. “Are you throwing me out?”

“No, I’m not _throwing you out_ ,” Eddie scoffed. “Obviously yes I will marry you, so we’re going to brush our teeth for like ten fucking minutes so I can make out with you. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah,” Richie smiled. “I think I’ll manage.”

They made it back to bed, eventually, and sat against the headboard together watching TV. There were a few new episodes of Dance Moms on the DVR to get to, that had quickly become one of the many shows they watched together. Today, though, with everything close to the surface, and Eddie suddenly couldn’t watch these adult women treat these kids like this. It was kind of insane how it hadn’t before, but this was seriously reminding him of his mom.

“Hey,” he said. He was holding one of Richie’s arms in his, his cheek resting on Richie’s shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” Richie said in a tone that was kind of mocking but only in a fun way.

“Can we not? Watch this, I mean, can we watch something else? I feel weird.”

“Too close to home?” Richie asked, fiddling with the remote.

“Yeah, actually.”

Richie leaned over and kissed Eddie’s hair, but didn’t say anything else about it. “Kardashians?” he suggested. “Kim’s pregnant, that’s a guaranteed good time.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. Which, like, okay. That’s as easy as it could be, with Richie. He made a point to think of it and remember it, for future reference. It was easy with Richie.

“Oh shit,” Richie said later that night, when he’d looked at his phone. “Bad news. I definitely made our plans for tonight. I can reschedule, though.”

“Fuck the plans,” Eddie said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Bev didn’t have a ton of leverage with her dad. Not that many people did, but she especially didn’t. That was more clear than ever, too, with the move happening in a month. Maybe that’s why Dad listened to her for once, and didn’t take her on his last stupid camping trip the week after school was out. She fucking hated going, and she wouldn’t see the boys maybe ever again, so she got him to agree to let her stay with Stan’s family. Stan was chosen because his dad and Dad knew each other from the bar and were friendly, and also because they had a pull-out couch in their family room. She’d be staying there two nights, Friday and Saturday, and the Friday night all the other guys were coming over too, for a movie sleepover.

Dad pulled into the Uris’ driveway. “Bev,” he began.

“See you Sunday,” she said, and got out.

Stan answered the door. He’d started growing, the past couple months, so he was taller than her now. “Hi,” he said. Like most things about Stan, it was awkward.

But Bev was pretty awkward too. “Hi,” she said back. “Thanks for having me over.”

“Yeah, totally,” Stan nodded. “Please, come in. Nobody else is here yet.” He gestured, awkwardly. Bev decided, as she came in and took her shoes off, that it’d be more useful to start noticing when he did things smoothly. This weekend would be full of weird, half-finished hand movements and hesitations. But what it wouldn’t have was her dad, so it would easily be one of the best weekends of her life.

“So,” he said. “Uh. You can put your things in my room, if you want. Just so, y’know. The guys don’t mess with them.”

“That’d be great,” Bev said, and only on the steps did she realize this meant being in Stan’s room with him. “Are your family, um. Around?”

“Mom’s shopping,” Stan said. “She’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

Stan awkwardly showed her into his room. Bev put her bag down at the foot of his bad, and then they just stood there for a second and then Stan said, “I have pot.”

“Oh,” Bev said.

“Would you like some?”

Bev did, actually, so the two of them went down to the basement and he opened one of the narrow windows and they stood under it, sharing a joint. She knew Stan smoked a lot because Richie liked to joke about it. About how the Stan they hung out with was the mellow version, so what must Stan be like off drugs? She didn’t think that was totally right, though. Stan, like all of them, had been through a lot. It was nice to have some help relaxing.

“You can have my bed. I’m gonna sleep down here with the guys anyways,” Stan said. “So. You’ll have privacy. And a door you can close.”

And no Eddie, who liked to talk for hours after the lights were out. “Thanks,” Bev said.

Stan just shrugged. “It’s fine.” He looked out the window, at the sky and top of a tree visible. “Are you excited to be moving?”

“No,” Bev answered honestly.

“Oh. Sorry. Bill said you,” Stan began, and paused. “Were.”

Bev screwed up her mouth. “Yeah,” she said. “I have learned not to tell Bill about things that are fucked up. Unless he can fix them. He gets upset about it.”

Stan nodded. “That’s a good strategy.”

“I wish I could stay,” Bev said.

“Yeah. Me too,” Stan said. “You’re cool.”

“I am not. You’re way more cool.”

Stan shrugged. “I think coolness is made up.”

“Well, duh, that’s also true. It’s only real in everybody’s minds.”

Stan looked at her, smiled, and all of a sudden Bev found herself wishing she’d spent more time with Stan alone, somehow. She couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. “Totally,” he agreed. “You want to see the puzzle shelf? We have a couple new ones.”

“Sure.”

One of the new puzzles was just dozens of brightly colored donuts, which Bev was feeling very drawn to at the moment. “Let’s do it,” Stan said, and brought it over to the coffee table. They sat side by side on the couch, and he tipped the box out in a way that seemed practiced. “First we have to put the pieces all right-side up.”

“Got it,” Bev said, and got to work.

It was kind of like meditating. Relaxing. Stan started putting edge pieces to one side, so she silently began to do the same. She found a corner piece, too, and slid it over to Stan. He put another corner near it, and then a third. “Do you like Bill?” Stan asked eventually.

“Yeah, he’s cool.” Bev thought of the poem hidden back at home, and felt her face heat up a bit. “He always knows like, exactly what he wants. That’s kinda great.”

Stan nodded. “He’s a good leader.”

“Right.”

“But do you _like_ him?”

Bev shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m leaving, so.”

“Good point,” Stan said, and put two edge pieces together. “Plus we’re only teenagers.”

“Yeah,” Bev said. “Tons of time to find whoever we want to marry.” Stan fit several more edges together, and Bev realized she had to start looking for pieces like that too. “Have you seen any cool birds lately, or anything?” she asked after a second.

“Oh, actually yes, I thought I saw a fork-tailed flycatcher the other day, which would be interesting. It could’ve just been a scissor-tailed flycatcher, but I didn’t get that good of a look at it. I’m not sure what to count it as, on my life list, so I just put down the details for now. I wasn’t sure what to count it as,” Stan explained, “because if I say it’s the rarer bird but it wasn’t, that won’t feel right. In my heart.”

Bev snorted, and Stan smiled at the table. “In your heart,” Bev repeated. “Sure.” And then she ended up laughing a little, because Stan’s dimple was funny.

“It’s a real problem,” Stan said, in a tone that didn’t sound very serious at all.

“I’m sure it is,” Bev giggled, and attached an edge to a middle. So they had a good time, with this puzzle, until the others showed up.

Eddie was the first to get there. “Is Richie here yet?” was the first thing he said, standing at the front door.

“No,” Bev said. “You’re the first. Everybody else is late.”

“Richie’s always late,” Eddie said. “Where are we going?”

“Downstairs,” Bev answered.

Eddie thought puzzles were dumb, he told them. Then, he proceeded to touch every individual puzzle piece, mess up Stan’s sorting system, and then actually put a bunch of pieces in place once they yelled him into behaving. Eddie, Bev thought, was kind of a lot.

Everybody else kind of got there at once, and then they all went outside to play very intense freeze-tag until Stan’s mom called them in for dinner. They ate hotdogs and mac and cheese and grapes, crammed around the dining room table with three extra chairs. It was loud, and stupid, and the whole thing was so much better for knowing that she didn’t need to go home tonight.

After dinner, they all went down into the basement together, piling on the couches to watch Back to the Future. Not Bev’s pick, but she was sitting next to Stan and it was honestly kind of fun to just hear him getting into it with Eddie and Mike about the practicalities of real life time travel.

“And ‘ow about you, Miss Scarlett?” Richie said from Bev’s other side. Bev looked over at him, and caught Eddie staring at them. He was crammed between Richie and the arm of the couch, half on top of him. Richie’s hand was on Eddie’s knee. For some reason, Bev got a bit of a chill.

“What?” she said with difficulty, looking at Richie.

He dropped the Voice. “When would you go back to?” he asked. “Probably before you were such a huge skank.”

Bev sighed. “Before I ever met you, for sure,” she said, and everybody _oooed_ at that except for Eddie, who was chewing on his nail, and Richie, who grinned. “I don’t know. I’d probably go back and tell myself not to get caught in the Deadlights. So we could beat It faster.”

“Easy,” Stan said, deadpan. “Done.”

“It’s time travel,” Bill said. “It makes things easier.”

“Not if you time travel to make trouble,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” Richie said, turning to look at Eddie. “Like time traveling to fuck your mom when she’s young and hot. Marty’s my hero.”

“He only _almost_ did it,” Mike retorted. “He stopped.”

“I know,” Richie said. “Because he’s a pussy. If I was time traveling and I met my mom-”

“Beep beep,” Eddie interrupted him. “You’re disgusting.”

“Not as disgusting as I’d treat your mom’s-”

“Beep beep!” Bev and Eddie chorused, outnumbering and surrounding Richie. Richie subsided with a smile. “Oh my god,” Eddie added. “Can we just unpause the movie and keep going? You guys always pause it every three seconds, it’s so annoying.”

“I paused it because _you_ were talking,” Mike pointed out.

“I was talking because Richie asked me a question!”

“Stop,” Bill sighed. “Can we just go?”

Stan looked at Bev as the movie got going again. Bev looked back at him, and they shared a knowing look. It really fucking sucked she was leaving, but at least she got tonight, this knowing look and this fun evening.

They finally finished the movie after ten, and the boys started blowing up the air mattress and rolling out the sleeping bags. “Truth or Dare,” Bill began, and Bev decided to head upstairs before someone dared her to kiss them. She made a vague excuse, not feeling good, and climbed both sets of steps alone, in the mostly dark house.

She changed into pajamas first, glancing at the closed door, and then stood in the middle of Stan’s room and looked around it. There was a poster of a bunch of labeled variations of birds on his wall, another poster for the X-men. There was a Rubik’s cube on his bookshelf, and a lot of books of crosswords. She sat on Stan’s bed against the wall, noted the three pillows stacked up at the headboard, and she was just debating how much she could disturb this bed when there was a knock on the door.

“Uh, yeah?” she said.

“It’s Stan.”

“Come in?”

Stan opened the door and slipped inside, closing it behind himself and leaning back against the door. “Do you really not feel okay?” he asked.

“I really didn’t want to play truth or dare,” Bev said.

Stan laughed, and ventured further into the room. “Me neither. Can I sit here, with you? They’re daring each other to lick things.”

“Oh god. Yeah, c’mon. It’s your room,” Bev added. “So.”

“Yea, well.” Stan sat gingerly next to her, scooting awkwardly back on the bed. “Mom said girls like privacy,” he said then.

Bev nodded. “I see.”

“So I just wanted to make sure, y’know.”

“Sure.” Bev crossed her arms. “I probably wouldn’t say I want more privacy than anybody else.”

Stan tilted his head. “Yeah. I think most of my mom’s experience being a girl is like twenty years old, so. She might not… be the best expert on the subject.”

They laughed a little bit, together. Stan pulled his knees up to his chest, and Bev stretched her legs out, crossed at the ankles. “What were they licking?” she asked.

“Well, Richie dared Eddie to lick his big toe, they were arguing over that when I left.”

“God,” Bev said. “Did anyone pick truth?”

“Bill did,” Stan said. “Mike asked him what was one secret he hadn’t told us and Bill said he cheated off Richie on a test.”

Bev frowned. “Oh my god.” Bill was not a cheater. But Richie did have straight A’s, so Bill was cheating off the best and that did make sense in a way.

“He was very ashamed,” Stan added. “Richie did a pretty good impression of Mrs. Wright being disappointed in him.”

They both started giggling, and then it was just them laughing and then Stan shushing both of them and laughing harder. And then it was just them sitting, quietly, thinking.

“Why birds?” Bev asked then.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you like birds? Is it something about them in particular?”

Stan made a face, like he knew it was a funny question and still intended to answer. “I mean,” he said after a second. “Mostly the quiet. I like being out there and waiting. Listening.”

Bev nodded.

“Plus. They’re the only wild thing we see so much of.”

“Jeez, what are you a poet?” Bev asked, and Stan grinned. “Is that really why you do it?”

Stan shrugged. “It’s nice,” he said. “It helps me relax.”

That made sense. Bev nodded. “I bet that’s nice.”

“Yeah.”

They sat there, in silence for a while longer. “I’ll go,” Stan said.

“You don’t have to.” Bev sniffed, wiped her nose. “I’m sure Eddie’s still talking,” she said.

“God,” Stan said. “He’ll be talking for another hour, at least.”

“Dude, Eddie talks so much!” Bev exclaimed, and Stan laughed. “Seriously. He’s got so much to say.”

“It’s like he has to get it all out before he goes to sleep or he’ll explode,” Stan smiled. “At least Richie’s like, the buffer.”

“I don’t know how Richie doesn’t kill him.”

Stan huffed out a laugh but didn’t put forward any theories. And then he fell asleep; she realized it when his head drooped onto her shoulder. And Bev decided, instead of waking him up, to fall asleep there too.

She woke up when the door opened. It was Richie, poking his head in. “Oh,” he said when they made eye contact. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Bev echoed, quietly. Stan was still sleeping.

“Just making sure,” Richie began, and then hesitated. She waved him in, so he ducked in and shut the door. “Making sure Stan didn’t get sucked into a sewer or something,” he said.

Bev shook her head. “Is everybody else asleep?”

“Yeah,” Richie said.

“Even Eddie?”

Richie sort of smiled, screwing his face up to try to hide it. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “He stopped talking, so.”

Maybe Bev was thinking about how much she’d miss him. She wasn’t totally sure why she held her arm out to Richie. Nor did she expect him to be quite so happy to come hug her, but he was. He got up on the bed and crawled over to her and wedged himself against her side. Maybe Richie was just tired, Bev thought, right before he said, “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Oh,” Bev said, her heart skipping. She held him tight, her arm around his shoulder. “I’ll write and everything.”

“Yeah, but still,” he said. “It’s not the same.”

“It’s not,” she agreed. And, because he’d gone first, she said, “I’ll really miss you too.”

Richie didn’t answer at first. He just held onto her, and then sniffed in a way that sounded suspiciously wet. “We’re gonna be so much less cool,” he finally said, and yawned. “How are we supposed to get more babes in the group without you?”

Bev scoffed at him, the way she usually did when he said stuff like that. “More importantly, who’s gonna keep you losers in line after I’m gone?” she said.

“Stan will be the coolest person left, that’s just fucking wrong,” Richie agreed, and then giggled. Richie loved to laugh at his own jokes. It made the badness of the jokes almost forgivable.

“I’ll be back to visit,” Bev said, even though she didn’t know if she could. It seemed okay to lie given how badly she wanted it to be true.

Richie fell asleep on her too, and Bev knew she’d wake them up to make them leave pretty soon, before Stan’s mom found them or something. But for the moment, she just stayed here and let them make her feel safe.

Bev really liked living alone. She’d never done it before. There were a couple months between boyfriends when she had brief leases, but those were liminal spaces. Between other places, never somewhere she settled. And this house, if it was one thing, was settled.

Not even a week after she moved in, Ben was in his own home down the road and off another side-street. It was more rustic than hers, a log cabin reimagined as a big, open ranch house, and it was gorgeous. Bev didn’t feel bad asking him to leave as much as she did. Actually, she almost felt bad for the opposite, letting him know when he could come back. Alternatively, she felt too desperate and needy, or stupid and withholding. The truth, she thought, was that she was probably all of those things to some degree, but never as badly as she thought. Never in a bad way.

They talked about it, too. That helped. After a few months, things settled into a pattern. Bev found it easiest to talk when she wasn’t looking straight at him. So she’d wait, until they were working on something in the house together, and then get herself to open up.

Today it was a dripping sink. Ben showed up with his toolbox, prepared to fix it. “I want to do it,” Bev said. “Can you show me how?”

“I’d love to,” Ben beamed.

So they sat together, on the floor of her kitchen, and Bev cleared out all the things from under the sink so she could wiggle under. Ben taught her how to find the spot that was leaking, so Bev crawled out to fill the sink and then feel around the pipes for wet spots. “I was thinking,” she said as the water ran. “About relationships.”

“Okay.” Ben was cross legged, back against the island, watching. His flannel shirt was warm browns, the sleeves half rolled up.

“I mean I don’t know what’s normal, obviously.”

“Same,” Ben agreed with a self-deprecating smile.

“But I think it’s normal to text you and let you know when I’m ready to be around people,” she said, and turned the water off. “Just… to let you know.”

“Yes.”

This was going well, Bev thought. Then, she thought she might be patting herself on the back a little too early. “Okay,” she said then. “But I also get the feeling you’d be over here all the time, if that was what I was interested in. Is that… accurate?”

“I’m not following.”

Bev stuck her head inside the cabinet before answering. “I just… it could be sort of… taking advantage,” she said.

“In what way?”

“I get to see you whenever I want, but you don’t get the same.”

“Bev,” Ben said very patiently. “Relationships aren’t math.”

Bev peered out at him over her arm. “I’m aware,” she said.

“I’m not keeping count like that.”

“But if you were, it’s not fair by any means.”

“Do you want to change something, then?” Ben suggested, and it seemed like he expected the answer to be no.

Bev found a wet spot. “I think it’s leaking here,” she said, and Ben scooted over with his flashlight to take a look. He was close, she couldn’t help but notice. She was little bit trapped, but nothing but her initial instincts was even remotely worried.

“Oh, yep,” Ben said. “We should trade out that drain. I’ve got a spare one, hold on.” He retreated, back out of her space and started digging in his giant tool box.

“The answer’s yes,” Bev said then. “I think I do want to change things. I just wanted to make sure I understood where we stand.”

Ben looked back at her, his eyes warm. “Okay.”

“I’m just… it feels like I have too much… say,” Bev ventured.

He snorted, and went back to the toolbox. “I promise,” he said, “I am very okay with the amount of control I have in this relationship. And if you need another opinion, talk to Mike. Or Stan.”

“You talk to Mike and Stan?” she said and then secondarily, “Wait, do you want to talk to Richie or Patty about this?”

“No,” Ben said. “I don’t need a second opinion, I’m good. I’m just saying it’s an option. Really. Let the water out.”

Bev got up again, stretching from her knees to pull out the stopper. The water gurgled down the drain. “Okay,” she said then. “Well, I don’t need to talk to anybody else either.”

“Fantastic,” Ben said. “Can I get in there? Let’s see how to get this off. Unless, I think it twists, can you-”

“I think so.”

They got the drain out, and began to install the new one. Of course Ben had caulk, too, which they used to put this thing in. By the end of it Bev thought she could probably do this again, if she had to, without too much trouble. There was some kind of gross gunk on her hands now, and debris on the floor that they needed to sweep up but before she handled that, she looked at Ben. “Are you free to stay tonight?”

“Absolutely,” he said. And the only trouble with how much he smiled was how they could all look the same sometimes.

That was another thing she was working on, but he didn’t know about it. There were things that Ben did or said that tipped her off - rarely, but enough that she could start to put together a pattern. He didn’t have everything together. There were problems in him, too. Now that Bev was feeling stable, she had started making sure to key into those things. The thing that was so tricky, though, was that his problems were part of why he was so understanding. That’s part of why she didn’t notice earlier. For example, Ben never asked for anything. Not one thing. That was perfect for a while, it was exactly what she needed, but now she was starting to wonder.

Later that evening, while they were making dinner, Bev brought it up. Not out of the blue - they were talking about food, and Ben said he didn’t like green peppers and Bev set down her knife and looked at him. “Ben,” she said. “I got peppers on those flatbread pizzas the other night.”

“Well,” he said, “you got veggie pizzas that included peppers.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t like them?”

Ben shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.” That wasn’t good enough, he could see it in her eyes because he added, “They tasted good in the context of everything else.”

“Tell me!” Bev insisted. “When you don’t like things!”

And although Ben agreed, nothing came up for the next couple of months. It was getting more obvious. He never asked for anything.

Bev’s therapist had a lot to say about it. She encouraged Bev to think about when she hadn’t felt empowered to ask for things and why she felt that way. That just made Bev start suspecting that Ben thought he wouldn’t be listened to, or maybe he didn’t think he deserved to be. And either of those hurt her heart.

After she was granted her restraining order against Tom, Ben and Bev started to go places, too. She went with him to events, to building openings and complementary weekends away at hotels hoping to entice him to work with them. It was fun being on his arm, decorative because she chose to be, and she was very good at it.

The one sort of weird thing was the number of extremely beautiful women who came up to Ben at these things to tell him how much they enjoyed sleeping with him. They didn’t say it like that, of course, they were much more artful and elegant and openly flirtatious. Ben always turned them down graciously, introduced her as his girlfriend, and so Bev was always polite and never insecure. But there was something in the surprise they always reacted with, when he said he was in a relationship. _I never saw you as the type_ , one of them said. Ben smiled when she’d said it, but Bev had started to notice the pause before he did that meant he was feeling Something Else. _People change, I guess,_ another one of them said, and Bev had retorted without really thinking about it. “People do. He hasn’t.” Ben had been pleasantly surprised by that, pretended to be clueless about what she was really saying, but the other woman understood because she flushed and excused herself.

And that was to say nothing of the shocking beauty of these women. Bev could hardly look at them without blushing, and watching them interact with Ben made her almost dizzy. She didn’t mind being jealous, she found. It was actually sort of a delight. But she minded that Ben seemed to mind, to actually get embarrassed. Scared of her reaction every time, no matter how many times she told him she didn’t care about what happened in the past.

“Sorry,” he said in the car on the way home from one such event. No fewer than three women had spoken to him, and this was like, the sixth event they’d gone to together. Bev was starting to wonder, with good humor, if and when this parade would ever stop.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said for the millionth time. “It’s funny.”

It wasn’t funny to him, that’s what his face said when she glanced over at him. It wasn’t easy to see him in the dim light from the road, but she could tell he was upset, one of the rare times she’d ever seen him less than okay. That was progress, though, that she could see it. “Okay,” he said in the end.

“Could you try saying a little bit more about what you mean?”

Ben sighed, and set his elbow on the little ledge by the window on his door so he could run his hand through his hair, a nervous habit. “It’s… it’s just embarrassing,” he said.

“How? They’re gorgeous.”

“Yeah,” he said. “And none of them wanted anything more serious.”

“Like that’s your fault?”

“That’s more likely than it being everybody else’s.”

“You realize that we’ve had this exact conversation in reverse,” she said, giving him a look that he missed. “Seriously, babe.”

“I know you’re serious,” Ben said. “I hear you. But.”

Bev looked over again to find him hesitating, debating something. So she decided to say something she’d been waiting for the right moment to bring up. “Ben,” she said. “My therapist thinks you might not feel secure in this relationship. And I think she’s got a point.”

“I feel very secure!” he protested. “I feel great.”

“I hope you do,” she said. “But if you don’t, that’s alright too. I can change things for you, just like you have for me. You get to ask for that, you know.”

He claimed he knew and understood that, and Bev wasn’t comfortable pushing it much further that night so they left it there for the moment. She let him turn the conversation to something somebody said to him while she’d been getting a drink. And then they were home, and he was staying the night - they’d discussed it before - there were bedtime routines, and then they went to bed without talking about it. For once, she wasn’t the one holding things back. And honestly it was kind of nice.

The next morning, Bev was up before him like she usually was. She made crepes, because she found it kind of meditative to stand in front of a hot pan and turn out a dozen of the same thing. Ben made his way down in the middle of the process, sleepy and half-awake. He always just wanted to be near her, a feeling she could keep herself warm with.

“Morning,” Ben said, and came over to kiss her.

“Good morning, crepes?”

“Please and thank you.” He took three, and pilled them up with Nutella between each layer and strawberries he pulled out of the fridge, and then he asked, “If I made more coffee, would you have some?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Ben had a couple bites and then got up and went over to grind some more beans. And after the sound of the grinder died down, he said, “Hey babe.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m…” The pause let her know to listen more closely, but she didn’t move just in case she might scare him off. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he finally said. “And I see your point.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, leaving plenty of room for him to continue.

He did continue. “I think I’m comfortable letting you be in control, because that way it’s not in my control when this is over.”

“When?” Bev said. “Babe.”

“Just being realistic,” Ben said, and she turned to look at him with exasperation. He was already shrugging, without turning around to meet her eyes. “Look,” he said. “I’m just…”

“I’m not planning on this being some short thing,” Bev said. “Are you?”

“No,” Ben said with an audible and visual shrug. “No, not at all, but it seems unlikely that you’d just, like. Stay for… what, forty more years?”

“Stay?” Bev repeated. “No, Ben. That’s not what the dynamic is.”

Ben put down the french press top to turn and look at her. “Isn’t it?” he said, with raw honesty and no smile whatsoever.

“No,” she said more firmly. “No. It’s both of us, choosing to stay.”

“I’ll never not stay,” he said.

“Oh, and I’m a person who bails?”

“No,” he said, his voice high, and repeated lower, “No, but… I’m one that gets left.”

Bev sighed, crossed her arms and let him have that moment while she tried to figure out how to articulate the ways in which that was not right. “Honey,” she said.

“I heard it as I said it,” Ben mumbled, and scratched his head awkwardly. “That’s… not strictly about this relationship. Those feelings.”

“Have you thought any more about finding a therapist?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Not really, but. I can’t put all of that on you.”

“No,” she agreed. “But you could try putting a little bit on me. I’m not going to leave if you rely on me.”

“I’m not great at relying on people,” Ben confessed, his apologetic smile back.

“Uh, yeah. Didn’t you teach yourself to lay tile because your tile guy was flakey?” Bev asked, and when Ben looked sheepish she grinned and pointed at him with her spatula. “I pay attention.”

Ben nodded. “I know you do,” he said, though he didn’t.

“Here’s something you should weigh in on,” she said, taking the pan off the heat and turning the burner off. “What do you want to do for your birthday?” 

“I don’t really celebrate it.”

“What? It’s a big one, you’re turning forty, you’ve got to celebrate it,” Bev said, and Ben just shrugged. “Do you want to have the gang over for dinner, at least?”

“With two weeks notice, I doubt most of them could make it,” Ben shrugged. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Bev did the opposite of listen to him. She texted everybody in the group, and then texted them in another group without Ben to emphasize how much it would mean to both of them if people could make it. And then she called just Richie.

Well, she called Richie and Eddie. She never really got just one of them these days. “What’s up,” Richie answered. “You’ve got me and Eduardo here, we’re in an uber.”

“Hi Bev,” Eddie said from slightly further away.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re in LA?”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “Why? All good?”

“She’s asking about Ben’s party,” Eddie answered. “We can fly back in time.”

“Oh totally. Did you book the flights?”

“No, we literally just got the text, Richie.”

“Okay, well, I can’t read your mind, dude.”

Bev, who was waiting patiently for them to come to an agreement, spoke up again then. “Guys.”

“Yes,” Richie said, more into the phone.

“Ben says he doesn’t celebrate his birthday.” Ben was outside and a floor away; Bev still knew how to make phone call without being caught.

“I don’t either,” Richie said. “What? Eddie’s giving me a look, Bev. It’s normal to be an adult and not have-”

There was a brief scuffle, and then Eddie said from much closer, “We’re in love with freaks of nature,” he said seriously. “What do you want to plan?”

“The planning I can handle. But what do I get him? I don’t want to just buy a watch or something,” Bev said. She ran a hand through her hair, detangling the ends, and then wrinkled her nose at the hairs between her fingers and dropped them on the floor.

“Anal,” Richie said after a second.

Eddie sighed deeply. “Rich, I swear to God.”

“Sorry,” Richie added, sounding appropriately chagrined.

Bev was smiling at her phone. “No bad ideas in brainstorming,” she said, pretending to take it seriously, and she heard Richie cackle.

“I feel like there are definitely bad ideas. Brainstorming or not,” Eddie said. “You want to give him, like, an experience? A weekend in Bali or something?”

“Oh,” Richie said a smirk in his voice. “It’d be an experience.”

Bev ignored this. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to get him something that will make him feel important and cared about and like, loved. And less like a hot fling I’m having, which I’m starting to intuit is how he kind of feels right now.”

“And by that you mean?” Eddie asked expectantly.

“He told me.”

“Ah.”

“So what would like, communicate all of that?”

There was a brief pause. Then Richie spoke up. “Oh,” he said. “He hasn’t moved in or anything yet?”

“No.”

“It’s so obvious. Dude.” He was quiet for a second, probably looking at Eddie. “A key,” he said then.

It was kind of perfect. “Oh shit,” Bev said.

“That’s romantic,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” Richie said. “I have my moments.”

Eddie didn’t argue with him, for once. A rare occurrence. Bev figured that meant Richie did actually have his moments, and that was so sweet she could only smile at her phone. “Okay,” she said. “Well. I guess I got what I came for.”

“Hold on,” Eddie said. “Why hasn’t he moved in yet?”

“Because not everybody is as cute as the two of you, alright?” Bev said, feeling defensive. “Jesus.”

“We’re pretty cute,” Richie agreed.

“No, we’re not,” Eddie said. “We have tons of problems. Is that, like, actually good with you though? Do you want to give him a key?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“That didn’t sound like a hearty yeah,” Richie said.

“Well, I’ve been enjoying… space. Time to myself. So.”

“You don’t give up time to yourself when you move in with someone,” Richie said. “Eddie was being the same kind of weird about - actually, give me the phone back, it’s my turn to call the two of you freaks.” His voice got closer. “Just a fun little PSA for the two most important people in my life. You do realize that even in a relationship, you get space and time to yourself, right?”

“I…” Bev began, and hesitated.

“Eds had a meltdown,” Richie began.

“I did not!”

Richie kept talking. “Over whether or not he should suggest I come to his gym. Because, he wants me to like, move more. And not die young. But also he’s always liked having time in the gym to himself, and didn’t want to fuck that up.”

“Well,” Eddie said quietly.

“It’s fine!” Richie said. “It’s really fine. It’s a normal thing to ask somebody for. He didn’t need to spend two weeks in agony about this, and you don’t either. It is normal and healthy to want to do your own shit.” Eddie mumbled something about Richie’s unexpected ability to put his headphones in and leave him alone, and Richie said, “Okay, yeah. That too. But Bev, if you have to physically lock him out to get a couple hours on your own, that’s not a good relationship.”

“I don’t,” Bev said. “He’s outside right now, and I’m up here. I guess… that’s a good point, though. It’s not like he’ll be glued to my side.”

“Not unless that’s your kink,” Richie said gravely.

Eddie texted Bev photo confirmation of their flights back twenty minutes later. She suspected he talked to Stan, because within two minutes of Eddie’s text, she got one from Stan too, confirming him, Patty, and Jonah would be there. And over the next couple days, she heard from all the other losers, even Mike in New Orleans. They’d all be there, and they were happy to be.

Ben didn’t seem to believe it, though. She told him they’d come, and she asked if he wanted any input on the food or cake, and his response in general was a series of shrugs. “I don’t care,” he said. Or, “I don’t know, you pick.” And that was not only not helpful, it felt very much like he didn’t want to invest in it. So Bev didn’t push it, and she made the plans and showed up at Ben’s house at noon the day of to lay things out.

Mike was the first there, with a bag over his shoulder and a gift wrapped in brown paper. “Hey man,” he said to Ben. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Ben said, and accepted a hug. “So good to see you.”

“Would you mind if I stayed for a couple of days?” Mike asked. “Catch up, maybe head out on a hike with you?”

“I’d love it.”

Mike nodded, and smiled at Bev. “Good to see you too. And you’re welcome to join us,” he said, and gave her a hug too.

“We’ll see,” Bev said. “Ben, do you want to show him the guest rooms? Give him the tour?”

Ben did very much want to give him a tour, so he and Mike went upstairs. They were talking about heating bills and hardwood floors.Bev was glad they were having fun but she decided to stay downstairs in case someone else showed up.

In fact, Richie and Eddie did. “Hey,” Richie said when Bev opened the door. “It’s cool if we crash with you tonight, right?”

“Of course,” Bev said. And she saw them a lot, she saw Richie every week when they were both in the same city but still, she hugged him every time and thought about how long she had gone without seeing him. It was understandable, she thought, to hold him tight. And Eddie too, Eddie had stopped being weird about hugs after a couple months of living with Richie. Eddie waited until she let go of Richie and then accepted a hug too, looking very serious. “Hi,” she said to just Eddie.

“Hey. Who’s here?” he asked, still holding onto her. He was a squeezer where Richie was a patter, and Bev liked them both in different ways.

“Just Mike.”

“How’s Ben?”

“Still acting like this isn’t going to happen.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh and let her go. “Yeah,” he said. “Richie’s used this as a reason for him not to celebrate his birthday this year.”

“I’ll celebrate!” Richie protested. “Just, later. I want Ben to have his moment.”

They’d had that argument before, Bev could see it in the way they looked at each other. It was settled, they wouldn’t be repeating it right now. Watching them, Bev thought maybe she’d never get over what a delight it was, to understand their unspoken thing. They were her _friends_. Maybe she looked like she felt that way, because Richie slung his arm around her shoulders and Eddie started telling her about some movie the two of them saw a couple weeks ago that she just _had_ to see too. “I love you guys,” she said when Eddie was done. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Of course we came,” Eddie said. “We love you too.”

And while they were still standing in the doorway, Stan and Patty arrived, with Jonah hanging out of Patty’s arms for Eddie the moment he saw him. “Please take him,” Patty said with feeling, “he did not enjoy the cab ride.” So Eddie got an accessory, a baby on his hip for that he looked at with mostly bemusement.

“Hey,” Stan said to Bev. “Could we stay for a few days? Are you busy?”

“I’m not,” Bev shook her head. “Please, feel free.”

“We’re gonna have the awesome house,” Richie said to Jonah confidentially. “You’re way better off with us.”

Jonah seemed unsure about Richie, as usual. “Shut up,” Eddie said to Richie. “You’re freaking him out. Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird, asswipe,” Richie said, and then looked at Stan. “Is it still good to swear around him?”

“Oh go for it,” Stan assured him. “We haven’t stopped. Especially when Patty’s driving.”

“I _need_ a wine and bitching night,” Patty said to Bev. “The moms around us are brutal. I got a look for going outside without putting shoes on him. As if he can even walk.”

“I’d love to listen,” Bev assured her.

Patty looked around at the boys, who all seemed prepared to complain about being excluded. “You can come if you can commit to a calm night,” she said firmly, with a sparkle in her eye. “Zero tolerance for unchill behavior.”

Bill was last to arrive, with Audra and their newborn, Camille, and he also had been hoping to stay. Just at the sight of him, Ben was overcome, so he was more than delighted to offer his other spare room to Bill.

And after that, everyone was just there, in Ben’s giant, warm living room. They were drinking, and snacking from the little platters Bev had put out, and laughing, and talking. In the middle of all that, Bev looked for Ben and found he seemed nervous. He was lingering by the sink.

“Hey,” Bev said, going over to him with her drink. “All good?”

“Uh,” Ben began. “Well. I… do we have food? Enough food?”

“Yeah, babe. I took care of it,” Bev said, and kissed him. “Did you think they’d flake out?”

Ben shrugged, met her eyes and shrugged. “I’m thinking,” he said then, deceptively casual, “that maybe I should really give therapy a shot like you said.”

“I never said-”

“You meant it,” he said, not like he’d caught her in a lie but more like he knew her. “And you were right. You had to plan this because I was too busy being insecure, and that’s not fair.”

Bev put her arm around him, and Ben put his back over her shoulders. “I was happy to,” she assured him. “You want to go fire up the grill?”

“You went with brats and burgers?”

“I did.”

“Awesome. I would love to go fire up the grill,” Ben added, and bent down to kiss her. “Thank you,” he said, with happy sincerity. “This is perfect.”

Bev tilted her head at him. “And I haven’t even given you my gift yet,” she said. “Should I do that now? Before we all get wasted tonight?”

“Might be a good call,” Ben said.

Everyone was occupied at the moment, mostly sitting on Ben’s extremely large sectional. Eddie and Richie were standing nearest, at the table, getting snacks. Or Richie was getting snacks, and Eddie was juggling Jonah and a plate. Jonah managed to get his hands on a baby carrot, and then Eddie lost his patience. “How about a second with Uncle Richie,” Eddie said, and then to Richie, “Be cool, okay?”

“Don’t tell me to be cool, it’s a fucking baby,” Richie said, and put down his plate.

“I’m telling you to be cool because you get too fucking weird and he can tell, so try being fucking cool for once,” Eddie snapped back, and Richie grinned and promised to try and Jonah reluctantly allowed himself to be passed over, keeping his carrot.

“Hey,” Richie said to Jonah. “So you’re into health food.”

Eddie sighed, shook his head with a smile growing on his face.

Bev smiled too, looked at Ben, and took out the little box. Black, flat, so he hopefully wouldn’t think ring and get disappointed. She hesitated for a second, too, because her reservations hadn’t disappeared. She did worry. But she also thought now, maybe she’d always worry, and he was worth it anyways.

Then, she made eye contact with Eddie. She caught him looking at Richie and the baby with a dizzying kind of love, a private expression. Eddie caught her seeing him. He just smiled a little, and then his eyes shifted to Ben for a second, and Bev thought about Ben holding a kid. Maybe their kid. She’d never wanted children before this moment, but now she could almost see it. 

“Happy birthday,” Bev said, and handed Ben the box.

Ben raised his eyebrows, looked at it and then up at her before opening it. She watched him see it, and register it, and then he looked back up at her. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” Bev said. “I love you. And I want you around more, I want you to feel at home with me. Like you’ve always made me feel.”

Ben opened his mouth to say something, but then Stan said, “Hey Ben, do you have another giant Jenga around here somewhere?” And Ben did, of course, so he went to find it and the moment was over.

That was alright, though. There would be a lot of other moments.


End file.
